


Coming Down

by Different_approach



Series: Risk/Reward/Annihilation [1]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Biting, Brainwashing, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Grinding, Knotting, Less torture than the game implies, M/M, Manipulation, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Scenting, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, cannibalism implied, given the premise of this ship dubious consent seems like an understatement, references to mating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Different_approach/pseuds/Different_approach
Summary: There are disasters Jacob can avert, and those he cannot.





	1. Chapter 1

Joe makes the decision to entrust one captive to each of them, but does not decide which of the hostages leaves with which Herald. He thinks it’s better that the family come to an agreement that works for everyone.

The three hostages from the Sheriff’s office are hogtied on the floor, mouths taped shut and eyes blindfolded. They’re conscious, though the little omega male deputy just barely. The female beta has plenty of fight in her and the alpha marshal’s entire body is drawn tight, waiting for any opportunity to strike. He’s sneering around his gag.

Jacob doesn’t care for how any of them smell. Well, the beta is innocuous, and if he didn’t have his siblings to consider, he’d just as soon take her as to not have to deal with the chemical stench of the other two. 

The omega is on suppressors, probably has been since he was a teenager. The marshal is on inhibitors that block out his scent almost entirely, except for an acerbic tang in the air. Normal for the outside but not inside Eden’s Gate. Save for the members meant to infiltrate into broader society, suppressors and inhibitors aren’t allowed. Joe tells the faithful that god has a plan for all of them, and while moderation is encouraged, canceling out their “true selves,” is not. 

It’s never much mattered to Jacob. He can control himself just fine. Being able to throw his scent and have Joe’s faithful respond positively to his commands has made keeping them corralled easier. There’s a practical advantage to encouraging dynamics. 

But still hopped up on drugs, the omega and the marshal could smell like anything underneath. And Jacob finds the faux-beta neutrality of their scents off-putting, like shitty fake vanilla extract. 

Faith kneels down next to the marshal, taking his chin between her delicate fingers to turn his head. The marshal suddenly complies, the fight draining out of him. And Jacob wishes Faith’s throw wasn’t so strong. It has its place, her powdery-soft scent mixing in with the Bliss to lull the angels into gentle submission. But in the closed confines of the room, Jacob nearly chokes on it. And though they are not blood relations, he’s been thinking of the girl as his sister for long enough that he doesn’t find the scent seductive, just overwhelming, verging on cloying.

“I want this one,” Faith says, dancing her fingers down the center of the marshal’s chest.

Jacob lets himself exhale with relief. He would have intervened and insisted he take the alpha marshal himself, if John had attempted to choose him. John and Faith might both be unbonded omegas, but Jacob has no doubts Faith can control virtually any alpha kept under her sway. John...John is rash, susceptible, weak. Right now, he wants to please Joe as the alpha of their family. But Jacob worries that temptation might still get the best of his youngest brother.

He assumes from there that John will take the omega. Right now, the little one is covered in grime and blood, but he might be pretty underneath. John likes ruining pretty things.

But instead, John moves in on the beta, grabbing her by the hair and twisting until she screams into the gag. John likes it best when pretty things try fighting back.

That leaves Jacob with the omega. Other than the smell, that’s fine. The crisis Jacob worried over is already averted by Faith choosing the marshal instead of John. He won’t try to upset the balance.

—

The omega is quiet at first, still tied up in the back of the truck cab. Halfway to the bunker, he starts sobbing, meek, hopeless sounds of fear around the gag. Jacob tells him to be quiet, and for awhile, the omega listens.

Jacob pulled the omega’s wallet from his pocket before leaving for the mountains. The deputy’s name is Staci Pratt, twenty-six years old. In his driver’s licence photo he looks good, handsome, clean shaven with a nice smile. A real charmer. Jacob could already tell, even though Pratt is broken and bloody in the back, stubble growing in thickly on his cheeks and chin.

He’s not supposed to smoke. Joe says it sets a bad example for the faithful. Jacob ‘quit’ long ago, smoked from thirteen until twenty-three. Didn’t pick it up again until Hope County. Too much stress, his nerves too fried. Needs something to cover up the shaking. Better than drugs. Sure as hell better than the Bliss. 

Popping open the glove compartment, he takes out the pack he’s been working on for the last month. Only needs it occasionally. Joe doesn’t have to know.

Rolling down the window, Jacob burns through a single cigarette as he drives. Pratt starts whimpering again, but with the nicotine, the edge of Jacob’s anger is somewhat dulled. He just wants to get back to the hospital.

He doesn’t bother telling Pratt to keep his mouth shut about the smoking. That will only give him ammunition against Jacob in the long run. He pulls open the rear cab door to pull the omega out, shoving him towards the grand hospital doors. 

Already bone tired, Jacob just wants to lay down. He won’t be able to sleep. Can’t sleep, really. But can rest. He can figure out what to do with Pratt in the morning. For the time being, he just tosses him into an empty cage and removes the gag before heading to bed. A quick word with the guards to keep an eye on the new prisoner. He’s valuable to the Father’s plans. 

\--

“Wake up, Peaches,” Staci feels a kick to his side. Though he’s still tied and blindfolded, he can tell there’s daylight now, brightness behind the cloth over his eyes.

Jacob Seed unties his wrists, then the blindfold. He’s kneeling close enough that when Staci opens his eyes, he sees the bright blue of Jacob’s boring into his. 

This is the worst case scenario. They should have never fucked with Eden’s Gate. Staci tried to warn them all, but that fucking Marshal kept pushing. And now Staci is fuck-knows where and at the mercy of some sociopath with pretty eyes. Some sociopath with pretty eyes who has the distinct smell of an un-inhibited Alpha and Staci hates how it blocks everything else out. Makes it harder to think than it should be. Fuck.

“We best get started,” Jacob grabs Staci under his armpits, hoisting him up to his feet. 

Staci is still sore from the crash. Something is wrong with his leg and he’s too terrified to look down and see the damage. He can stand, but it feels like the skin is loose, wet paper wrapped around his bone. His head hurts and he knows his face is covered in blood. Not all of it is his own. The others were there last night, weren’t they? Hudson and the Marshal...but the Sheriff and the Rookie...are they dead? 

Once Staci is on his feet, Jacob Seed pushes him out the cage and towards the door. Jacob doesn’t touch him after that, but stays in lock step behind Staci’s back, directing him somewhere. 

His throat is so dry, he’s not sure he can even speak. 

Jacob takes him to the bathroom, tells him to clean up, they’ll dress the wounds that need it. “You’re weak. And if you die, it will be on my head.”

Staci can tell Jacob is looming, doesn’t even leave the room as Staci strips down to step into the shower. Once the water starts running, Staci risks it, and drinks from the showerhead. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another opportunity.

He has to look at his leg to clean it, but the damage isn’t as bad as he had worried. The skin is cut through, and he’ll need stitches, but it’s not as floopy-loose as he had feared. He tries to get the dirt out of it, and in the process of scrubbing it starts to bleed again, the scabbing breaking off. Staci hisses in pain, but keeps going. If he gets infected, he’ll lose the leg. Fuck, it might already be too late.

Staci spends less time on his hair than he did his leg, washing it with the same hard soap he used on his body. Before he can properly finish, Jacob barks at him to get out of the shower. There’s a towel hanging on the rack for him, and some clothes that must have come from one of the peggies. They’re just about the right size. 

Hunger claws at him now that thirst isn’t an immediate problem. But eating is still far from Staci’s first priority. “I…” Staci thinks maybe he should fight harder, but he’s too terrified. He’s heard stories of Jacob. They saw the bodies on pyres when flying in. “Suppressants.”

Jacob shakes his head, “You’re in no position to make demands.”

Staci opens and closes his mouth, but thinks better than to say anything at all.

“You’ll need to be stitched back together,” Jacob says, and the words that should be a relief sound more like a threat.

\--

Staci Pratt will never be strong enough. Jacob already knows as much. And it has nothing to do with being an omega. There are plenty of strong omegas among the faithful. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Jacob counts some of them among his trusted lieutenants, executing his orders in the field. He’s already had children with three others, scattered across the outposts in the mountains. He believes in them and their strength. Being an omega has nothing to do with Staci Pratt’s weakness.

“Again,” Jacob repeats, starting the song over. 

Staci cries out, “No,” falling to his hands and knees before covering sightless eyes. “I can’t. Just kill me.”

“Again,” Jacob turns the music box.

He wishes Joe would just let Pratt die. It would be easier for everyone. 

\--

Jacob trains Pratt to kill the Deputy. The one who got away. All of this, for the one who got away. Joe wants this loose end wrapped up as soon as possible. If Pratt can be properly trained, he can get close to the Deputy, find him at his weakest point. 

Everything is by design.

He makes sure to cut Pratt’s rations. Not enough to actually cause his body to shut down, but enough that his excess weight will start dropping off. He’ll look thinner, more emaciated, fragile. Right now, Pratt has the build of someone whose greatest sin is vanity. Carefully carved out abdominals, defined obliques, attractive arms. None of it particularly practical, or gained through labor. Pratt wanted to look good and didn’t worry about function.

But by making him smaller, thinner, the Deputy will want to protect Pratt, shelter him. They know the Deputy is an alpha, and pulling Pratt off of suppressants will only help him to get close. Jacob’s plan is a good one. Smart. If Joe won’t let Jacob kill Pratt, he might as well make use of him.

—

Staci spends seven more days in the same cycle, a shower just long enough to get clean, though his leg is wrapped up tightly now, enough food that he doesn’t die, then hours under the sway of the music box. Kill. Kill. Run, survive. Weak, but weakness has its purpose.

Then on the eight day, nothing.

Jacob doesn’t come for him, leaving him alone in the cell. Hours churn by and he’s so thirsty that his throat aches. They haven’t put anyone else in his cell. But that’s the only mercy that he’s been afforded. But even if he’s locked up separately, Staci is afraid. 

It’s been nine days since his last suppressant pill. The men and women in the other cages are mostly betas, but he can smell alphas too. And with each passing day, he knows they look at him differently. The guards look at him differently too, as his scent starts to change. He doesn’t feel any different. Not yet. But the eyes on him make him cringe.

—

On the fourteenth day, Jacob returns for him.

“Change of plans, Peaches,” he opens the door and pauses, staring down at where Staci is curled in the bundle of sheets that pass for his bed. “Follow.”

Even though Jacob says plans are changing, Staci expects to be led to the showers. It’s been...five or six days since he’s properly washed. He knows he smells of sweat and grime and…

Unmated, un-suppressed omega.

And all his thoughts condense around that single point, going haywire all at once with worst case scenarios that are worse than this current worst. Every nerve in his body says to flee. To run.

But Jacob is so much bigger than him. And stronger. And Staci hasn’t had a proper meal in two weeks. He’s exhausted. But maybe if he runs, Jacob will kill him. Maybe this will all be over.

That’s the only thought screaming in his head as he starts to run, pounding his bare feet against the hospital floor. 

Jacob doesn’t even shout, or chase after him. He simply follows at the same pace he’s always kept. Steady and calm as Staci realizes he doesn’t know where to go. The peggies watch him with curious disdain until he finds the front doors, the metal gate in front of it shut and locked.

Staci throws himself against the bars. Over and over again until his shoulder and side ache. Until he can’t pick himself up again. He hears Jacob’s boots on the floor, steadily encroaching. Once the footsteps stop, Jacob crouches low, staring into Staci’s eyes.

“Do you feel better now?”Jacob asks.

Staci admits, “No.”

Jacob leaves him a heap on the floor and walks away, unconcerned with Staci’s tantrum. Not knowing what else to do, where else to go, Staci stays huddled by the door. Someone must come in, or out, eventually. But no one moves. It feels as if the whole hospital goes still.

When he wakes again, he’s not by the door, or in his cage, but in a makeshift bedroom, Jacob Seed working at his desk by lamplight.

“As I was saying, Peaches, there’s been a change of plans.”

—

The chemical smell of Pratt’s suppressors is completely gone after two weeks. 

Jacob hadn’t intended to leave him alone for quite so long. But the escaped Deputy is raising hell in the Valley and John, for all his clever words and talented hands, can’t plot out troop movements for shit. Jacob’s expertise was needed to try and fortify their positions before they lose another outpost.

When Jacob returns to the hospital, he realizes his mistake.

The alphas he has penned in are scratching at the bars, reduced through training though their most primal needs. The guards are better off, using their faith to guard against the Lust that claws inside of them. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. There are plenty of omegas around the hospital. But Pratt has likely been suppressed for years and his hormones are going haywire, throwing further and stronger than they should.

Jacob had every intention of simply recloating Pratt to a private room where his scent won’t be such a nuisance when he decided to make a pathetic escape attempt. Better just to let Pratt tire himself out for the moment. 

Jacob doesn’t really care to admit it, but as violently unpredictable as Pratt’s hormones are, the buttery, warm scent of him is making it hard for Jacob to put him down properly. It’s not so bad as to make Jacob lose his head, but enough that the idea of hurting him feels wrong inside his gut. It’ll pass. But right now, Jacob can wait.

Watching Staci Pratt wake up bleary eyed in his bed, hair rumpled and his dirty face still a mess, tugs at Jacob’s instincts. But it’s still manageable. 

“You’re not strong enough to kill, to survive. You don’t have it in you,” Jacob taps his fingers against his desk. He wants a cigarette, but he can’t take the chance smoking inside the hospital. “But we find a use for the weak.”

Joe doesn’t want the Deputy dead. He wants the rouge alpha alive. When Jacob asked why Joe was so intent on keeping such a thorn around, Joe said that symbols are important. Prophecy is important. Jacob watched John smile.

Keeping the Deputy alive will doom them all. But it’s not Jacob’s decision to make. Joe’s affections for their younger brother are keeping him from thinking rationally. They can’t just give John every shiny toy he asks for. They can’t.

The most Jacob can hope for is heading off the disaster sure to come knocking at their door.


	2. Chapter 2

Staci sticks to Jacob’s side, really just a step behind, a clipboard gripped in his hands, so tight his knuckles turn white. He’s dizzy all the time from lack of food, but too terrified to speak up. Too lost and alone as to formulate any sort of plan that extends beyond, “live til tomorrow.” And then, as the day drags on, “maybe he’ll still change his mind and kill me.”

It’s hard to make sense of his own thoughts, whether Staci wants to survive, or whether he wants this to be over. He takes notes for Jacob now, scribbling down memos for later. Sometimes, when Jacob meets with Joseph, Staci ends up locked in Jacob’s room, filing papers, coordinating reports. Staci’s head swims with information, but he has no one to tell. He knows so much, but understands so little.

Staci sleeps in a private cell now, one of the old patient rooms rather than the shared pens. Jacob locks him in at night, opens the door in the morning, and expects Staci to trot along, unprompted. Staci isn’t naive enough to think this is an improvement in his conditions. His scent was becoming a distraction. 

Which is not fucking his fault. If Jacob would just get him his fucking suppressants.

He’s starting to develop symptoms, not withdrawal, really, but something else. At first, it was just the way he smelled. And that didn’t really concern him directly, other than the stares. But he’s started to feel feverish in bursts, sweating even when the air is cool, his stomach tangling in knots only to loosen up again. It’s not a hell of a lot different than when he was fifteen and went through his first--and only--heat. 

He’d told his father what was happening, embarrassed, but knowing from health class in school what was going on. His parents made an appointment with the doctor. From Staci’s stature, he was expected to be either a beta or omega, though size alone doesn’t always prove to be a sure indication. Neither of his parents, or him, really, had been surprised. But they could only get an appointment with the doctor in three days time and on the second day Staci had gone into heat. 

It had sucked, but these things happen. He made it through the week, got on suppressants, and hadn’t needed to worry about it again. 

Except now it feels like he’s shuffling towards heat for the first time in over ten years.

A courier catches Jacob in the hallway, as they’re on their way to the pens. Jacob has two new recruits he must speak with, before assigning them positions in the field. They’re trades with John. Two seasoned fighters were transferred to the Valley yesterday, and John has sent two untrained offerings in return. Staci knows that Jacob would rather have not received such gifts, but Joseph had insisted.

Jacob hands the note from the courier over to Staci without opening it, telling Staci to read the message. Unfolding the paper, Staci’s eyes trace over each word. The Deputy is still alive. Staci can’t help but feel relief. 

The Deputy crossed over into Faith’s territory, then disappeared.

“What does it say?” Jacob asks.

Staci relays the information and nothing about Jacob’s demeanor gives away if this is a good or bad development. Jacob simply grunts and they simply continue on to the pens.

While Jacob talks to the new recruits, Staci takes notes. He copies down information from their driver’s licenses. Neither of them have been with the cult long enough for their IDs to have expired. Legal names, dates of birth, license numbers. Once he’s done, he hands them back to the recruits. Jacob dismisses them, saying that he’ll have assignments later.

“Did you let him fuck you?” Jacob asks, once they’ve left the pens behind and start heading for the cafeteria.

Staci honestly asks, “Who?” Because who the hell would he have been fucking? The only time he’s out of Jacob’s sight is when he’s locked in his room or Jacob’s.

“The Deputy.”

Staci’s mouth gapes just a bit. Sure, he might have thought about the Junior Deputy when they first met. In the same way he might think of anyone else he found attractive. If they had met in a bar, rather than being coworkers, Staci might have tried to take him to bed. But they knew each other for literally nine days before the helicopter crash. And Staci planned on keeping his job at the Sheriff’s office. He wasn’t about to fuck up good health insurance and paid time off over some knot he doesn’t even know the quality of.

“No, sir.”

Jacob frowns in response, opening the cafeteria door. It takes Staci a moment to realize that he’s holding the door open for him. The gesture is so strange and out of character that they stand awkwardly in the hallway for several seconds more.

—

Pratt’s demeanor changes, however subtly, as he reads the note from the courier. Jacob has some idea of the information contained within. Joe keeps him apprised of the situation to the south. John’s Pride is too much to ask for help directly. The courier’s note is from Jacob’s own scouts, but he’s already heard the news about the Deputy crossing into the Henbane from Joe.

He lets Pratt read the note first, watching to see how the omega reacts, trying to suss out if Pratt and the Deputy have history together. Pratt’s body language is...difficult to read. He relaxes, his normally tight shoulders coming down half an inch, he breathes more easily. But nothing else about him really changes. Pratt’s scent has still been unpredictable, even with the drugs out of his system. So that’s no help.

Jacob has no choice but to ask directly. He knows Pratt is too scared to lie to him. But even asking might be too much a sign of weakness. Pratt might misinterpret why Jacob is even asking. 

While Joe forbid Jacob from using Pratt to kill the Deputy outright, that doesn’t mean the omega can’t still serve as bait.

The most frustrating part is that Pratt still doesn’t smell quite right for the mission. At first, Jacob assumed it was simply that he wasn’t attracted to Pratt, even though he does have a good face, sweet looking lips. Pratt is too passive for Jacob’s tastes. Too beaten down already. That’s when Jacob thinks to ask one of his alpha lieutenants about it. The guards seemed to think Pratt was worth paying attention to, when he was still in the pens.

The lieutenant admitted that sometimes Pratt smelled divine. But sometimes? Like nothing at all. That assessment largely matches up with what Jacob had observed as well.

When Pratt says, honestly, that he hasn’t fucked the Deputy, Jacob takes him at his word. 

In the cafeteria, Jacob tells the cook to put Peaches on normal rations. The hunger has made him to weak to be of any use. Really though, Jacob has started to wonder if it’s the lack of food that has kept Pratt from cycling, even off the suppressors. It’s worth a shot. And Pratt is already well enough broken to stay in line.

—

Jacob plays the music box once more.

Staci screams, “I thought this was over?”

It’s the same tune, the same room, but still different.

Staci runs through empty corridors. This time there are no soldiers, no guns, no screams but his own. And he realizes he’s sprinting, escaping, with someone in pursuit. Like one of those expensively costumed period-pieces, where the omega runs from the alpha before getting pinned down and ravished. Staci chances a look down, only to find he’s dressed in his deputy’s uniform, and not layers of ruffled silk gowns.

But there’s still someone coming around the corner, their footsteps heavy and breathing harsh. He can’t slow down or he’ll be caught.

He dashes past the room of barricades, through the narrow doorway. Weaving his way between the cramped rooms, he knocks his shoulder against the doorframe. Fuck that hurts!

Once he reaches the end, there’s another large, looming figure waiting for him, his face covered, his shape barely decipherable under layers of heavy clothing. Too thick and bulky for the weather, even up on the mountains. 

Staci has to make a decision: the man in front of him, or the one coming up behind. His hesitation lasts only a moment, before he runs forward, the faceless figure opening up his arms to wrap around and hold him tight.

Distantly, he can hear Jacob’s voice, “You’ve done well.”

—

“Get up, Peaches,” Jacob throws open the door to Staci’s cell, flipping on the light switch. “We’re going on a field trip.”

Staci has felt like shit all night. The passing waves of discomfort are drawing closer and closer together. For the last week, he’s eaten better, and Jacob doesn’t restrict his water intake like he used to. Staci doesn’t know what to make of it. Letting himself be lulled into a false sense of security seems a poor idea. But without the clawing hunger in his stomach every night, he’s sleeping better too.

Disobeying Jacob isn’t an option, so he drags himself out of bed and pulls on his pants. When he goes for his shirt, Jacob tosses him his sheriff’s uniform to button up over his undershirt. Staci can’t guess where this is going.

Staci has been back in “training” for the week as well. Always the same scenario, someone chasing after him, someone else waiting on the other side. He always chooses the man in front. Jacob always says that’s good. That’s right. So Staci doesn’t understand why he has to keep going back.

Once Staci is dressed, Jacob leads him to the courtyard doors, unlocking the gate so they can both step outside. There’s a truck waiting for them. Staci expects to be hauled into the back, but Jacob tells him to ride in the passenger seat. One of the cultists busies herself with opening up the iron gate so Jacob can drive out.

Jacob rolls down the windows all the way, sticking his elbow out as he drives. The wind whips through Staci’s hair, it’s gotten so long. One of the tasks Jacob requires of him now is to keep his beard trimmed and his neck neatly shaved. Staci had to learn how to use a straight razor. He only ever used an electric on himself. He’s been allowed to shave when he showers, but he hasn’t thought to try and cut his own hair.

Staci tries to keep his eyes on the open road as Jacob drives. He keeps his hands perched in his lap, fingers twined together. Despite the circumstances, he’s able to enjoy the cool air on his face, the crisp, clean scent of the forest that surrounds them. It’s so different than the hospital.

He doesn’t know where they’re going, and it doesn’t matter. 

—

Pratt’s scent hangs heavy in the air, no longer sputtering in and out. It’s just as warm and buttery as the first time Jacob caught it in the pens. Jacob rolls both windows down so as to not suffocate inside the cab.

The drive out to Elk Jaw Lodge is quiet, other than the steady beat of the radio. Jacob keeps it tuned to the Whitetail’s pirate station. For one, he thinks they have better taste. Two, they might slip up and reveal something about their location over the airwaves. 

Pratt doesn’t dare breathe a word, sits there quiet as a churchmouse. At first, his posture is stiff, but as the miles pass, he sinks down in the passenger seat, watching the scenery drift by.

That’s one of Pratt’s better character traits. He knows when to be quiet. 

Jacob considers telling Pratt to fish him a cigarette out of the glovebox. But the faithful will be able to smell the smoke on him if he does. Right now, he probably reeks of Pratt.

Putting the car into park outside the lodge, Jacob tells Pratt to follow after. Jacob doesn’t expect to be long. He wants to get back to the hospital by nightfall. 

The Judges at the lodge have been acting up, crying in the night, his lieutenant said. Strangest thing. Depending on how close the local prey animals get to the lodge, the Judges can be unruly at night. But this sounds like they’re scared of something.

The wolves should be so hopped up on Bliss that they don’t remember how to show cowardice. Jacob can’t say that he enjoys the process, but it’s better than submitting worthwhile humans to the Bliss. Faith might not hesitate to make her Angels, but Jacob wants strong bodies and sharp minds. The Judges give him a cutting edge, without dealing with the pathetic aftermath of human junkies.

Pratt trots after him, clipboard in hand as Jacob speaks to the trainers. He then personally inspects the animal cages. Bliss still hangs around them in a murky cloud. Nothing seems particularly amiss.

One of the younger trainers wants to try something. She disappears with a trained hunter, the two of them crossing the street and heading into the woods. While she’s gone, the lieutenant offers lunch. There’s little to do now but wait for the trainer to come back.

The sun is nearly set by the time she returns, leading a deer on a length of rope. The animal is skittish, but follows along. She has probably tamed the deer with a dose of Bliss.

As she starts to bring the captive doe closer to the Judges’ cages, the wolves react. Biting at the opposite end of their enclosures from where the doe approaches, they try to break free of their bars. When teeth prove ineffective, they start smashing their skulls against the cage instead.

Jacob barks at her that he’s seen enough. Take the deer away. She just shrugs and tells the hunter to shoot it. They can dress and butcher it for food.

Going around to each cage, Jacob puts a bullet through the skull of every affected Judge, ending their misery. They’re no use to him like this. Once he’s finished, he tells the trainers to stop using the current batch of Bliss. They can’t dump it either. Something is wrong and it’s most likely contaminants in the Bliss. Jacob will have a new shipment delivered from the Henbane. They’ll have to start over.

—

It’s well past dark by the time Jacob is finished at the lodge. He’s all but forgotten Pratt’s near silent presence while he tries to deal with the corrupted Judges. Occasionally, Jacob would hear Pratt’s pen scratching against paper, or catch the scent of him. But it’s tolerable.

That’s what Jacob says to himself, as they climb back into the truck. But confined again to close quarters, Pratt and his ridiculous, uncontrolled throw becomes a nuisance. Again. He’s distracting.

“Stop it,” Jacob threatens, as they pull out of the gravel drive and onto the paved road.

Pratt recoils, softly asking, “What?”

“Stop throwing your scent,” Jacob reaches over to the passenger side of the car, wrapping his hand around the back of Pratt’s neck, his thumb and ring finger easily able to reach the scent glands on either side of Pratt’s throat. He puts pressure on the glands to prove his point.

Pratt, predictably, panics, throwing even stronger and further than before. But this time, the pleasant buttery scent turns bitter with fear and despite himself, Jacob retreats, snatching his hand back.

Breathing heavily, Pratt sutters that he’s sorry. “I never learned how. I didn’t need to,” he babbles, “I’ll stop, I’ll stop,” though Jacob realizes that Pratt has no idea how to stop.

Pulling off the road, Jacob throws open the door and gets back out of the car. Pratt is afraid again, his body going stiff in the passenger seat. Jacob stalks around the truck, opening Pratt’s door and hauling him out of the truck.

Pratt tries to cover his face, his hands balled into fists and forearms shielding his eyes, nose, and mouth.

Touching Pratt was a mistake. And being outside the truck and in the open air isn’t providing the same relief as before. Jacob is standing too close, his arms wrapped under Pratt’s armpits to hold him up, Pratt’s chest flush to his, breathing frenzied and erratic. All Jacob can smell, can feel, is Pratt. Pratt, whose hands come up to fist in the front of Jacob’s jacket, tilting his head back to expose his throat. 

Jacob takes one hand to grab the back of Pratt’s head, threading his fingers through his hair. It’s soft.

“Fuck,” Jacob whispers, as Pratt’s eyes start to roll back. 

“I’m fine,” Pratt slurs, “I’ll be good.”

Jacob should just drop him onto a heap on the muddy ground. Leave him here. Be done with it. He can make up some lie to tell Joe. That Pratt started to run and he shot him to keep the deputy from escaping. But that would mean actually killing Pratt. Right? That’s the cleanest way out of this situation Jacob didn’t want to be involved with in the first place.

Joe will never believe that. That somehow Pratt got enough of a head start that Jacob couldn’t hunt him down alive.

Jacob ends up sinking to his knees, guiding Pratt down carefully to lean against Jacob’s chest, straddling his lap. The leaves under them are damp, it rained last night, and in the shade, it wasn’t hot enough for all the water to evaporate. Jacob feels the wetness of the earth soak his pants.

Pratt shifts his grip to hold tight to Jacob’s shoulders, tucking his face against Jacob’s neck. His nose is cold.

They stay like that, cars speeding by on the road, paying no mind to Jacob’s standard issue Eden’s Gate truck.

Pratt smells good, Jacob finally admits to himself. 

But that doesn’t mean anything. Pratt is still weak. Still a tool to be used of and disposed. Jacob will train him to lure the Deputy in. And once Joe has what he needs, Jacob will dispose of Pratt. He will have served his purpose. 

It doesn’t matter that he smells good.

Once Pratt comes back to himself, he pulls away sharply, falling out of Jacob’s lap and back onto his ass into the damp leaves. His eyes are wide and alert again, he wraps his arms around himself, saying nothing.

Jacob stays silent too, standing up and heading back to the driver’s side. He waits for Pratt to climb inside and close his door, before turning on the ignition.

“You’ll go into proper heat soon,” Jacob says, his voice an even keel, even though his nerves are a mess. This isn’t supposed to happen to him.

Pratt purses his lips, not responding until they’re properly back on the road. “And whose fault is that?” There’s more venom in his voice than there has been in the last six weeks Jacob has held him captive.

Jacob can’t help but laugh, because there’s no other fucking answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so basically I was never expecting this fic to go over so well. All of your comments and kudos have really motivated me to keep working on this. So thanks a lot guys, I hope that I can meet your expectations. Writing this trope has been an interesting experience for me.

Staci chews at his nails, whenever his hands aren’t otherwise busy. It’s not a bad habit he indulged in before the hospital. His nails were always neatly trimmed before. He’s stopped shaving too. Before….this, he never let himself get past the ‘rugged stubble’ phase. His facial hair has always grown in patchy, and too much length makes the bald spots in his beard more apparent. But he’s not trying to impress anyone now.

It’s been four days since Jacob took Staci with him to the lodge. Whatever the fuck that was supposed to be. Staci mostly remembers feeling sick, Jacob putting the Judges down, then the side of the road. 

Staci stuck his nose against Jacob’s neck, not knowing entirely what to expect. Jacob uses his scent like a baton to beat down his subordinates, making them come to heel. But he doesn’t, hasn’t, used it on Staci directly. Staci didn’t know that Jacob could smell so bright and crisp and clean, under the harsher musk he uses to browbeat the weak. To control people like Staci.

But not Staci.

The day after the lodge, Staci found a box waiting on his mattress: bottled water, protein bars, and a knotted dildo. How utilitarian.

But day after day passes, and Staci’s heat doesn’t come.

And that’s fucking fine for Staci, even if that means following Jacob around like a goddamn dog. Even if it means being chased through empty hallways that only exist in the fever of his training. Even if it means he feels like he’s crawling in his skin. 

Jacob opens the cell door to let Staci out. Staci follows to the cafeteria. They eat, they don’t speak. Staci takes up his clipboard, and follows Jacob.

There are barrels of Bliss arriving from the Henbane today, replacements for the tainted batches. At least, Jacob thinks that the problem was with the Bliss. Not the wolves. Wolves are perfect predators, Jacob says. It must be the Bliss.

Rather than shipping the containers direct to the lodge, Jacob wants to inspect them personally. He’s had three wolves captured and brought in for testing. 

Staci’s stomach churns, he doesn’t want to watch this.

Jacob values punctuality; Faith clearly doesn’t. The shipment is thirty minutes late already, by the time Jacob heads to the courtyard. Jacob’s waits another ten, before trying to reach the truck by radio. The captive wolves bite at claw at their bars.

Faith’s voice practically dances over the air, and Staci watches as Jacob visibly recoils, “I didn’t realize you were delivering the shipment personally.”

Faith laughs, sharp and sweet, “Father said I should visit.”

This time, Jacob doesn’t cringe. But Staci can tell something is off from the way he grips the handheld. “How much longer?”

There’s a long pause before Faith chirps, “I’m here!”

Jacob gestures to one of the guards to open up the gate. The hinges shriek in response.

Faith arrives in the passenger side of the lead truck, huge mint-green canisters of Bliss strapped securely in the bed. A second truck follows after hers, parking beside the first. She hops down from the truck, barefoot and her wheaten hair wild around her shoulders. Dressed in white, there are subtle stains around the hem of her lace dress.

Staci tries his best not to react as she draws close. Faith comes up on her toes and throws her arms around Jacob, hugging him tightly through the middle of his chest. Once she lets go, she rocks back on her heels, a bright smile on her face.

“Oh,” she says, tilting her head to one side and locking her eyes with Staci’s. Staci looks away, unable to meet her gaze. Her scent hits him suddenly, like a punch to his sternum. It’s almost floral, like candied violets. And stronger than anything Staci has encountered in the hospital.

Jacob murmurs under his breath, “Stop it.” 

Staci assumes Jacob is speaking to him, but Faith frowns and turns back towards her brother. “Oh? You prefer his?” Her smile returns, this time with a manic glee.

“Not here,” Jacob warns.

Faith pushes her hair back off her shoulder before grabbing Jacob’s hand and leading him back towards the hospital. “We can catch up, like Father wants, and then I’ll leave you to inspect the Bliss.”

“Get going, Peaches,” Jacob commands. Staci rushes to open the door. They let Faith through first, then Jacob, then Staci two steps behind.

Jacob leads them all to his office. As they walk, Faith plays with her hair. She doesn’t try to overwhelm Staci again, but her scent still hangs in the air. Staci is forced to walk through the cloud she leaves behind.

Inside Jacob’s room, Staci stands by the side of the door, quiet, unobtrusive. Jacob takes his seat behind the desk, leaving the chair opposite for Faith. But she sits at the corner of the desk instead, crossing her legs at the ankles. The bottoms of her feet are filthy. But more than that the skin looks broken, painful. How can she stand to walk? Or is she so fucking high that she can’t feel it?

“What did Joe want you to tell me?” Jacob asks.

“Father,” Faith corrects, “wanted to you know that the Deputy is slipped back into the Valley.”

“Joe could have told me that himself. My scouts have given similar reports.”

Faith frowns again, turning her head to look at Staci against the wall. Staci wishes he could melt from her sight. Just disappear. Her scent swells again.

“I told you to stop,” Jacob warns.

Faith snaps back, “tell your pet to stop first.”

Jacob groans, “He can’t, Faith, he doesn’t know how.”

“Tell him to leave. Father wouldn’t want him to hear.”

Jacob shakes his head and Faith, capricious as ever, drops the idea of Staci leaving entirely.

“John caught him, he’s being held in John’s bunker now.”

Staci can’t help his eyes going wide. No, no, no. The Deputy was...everything. Staci’s only tangible hope of making it out of this. Oh god. Oh fuck. His knees buckle. The wall behind him keeps Staci from collapsing, but just barely. 

“I see, good,” Jacob drolls.

Jacob doesn’t sound, “good.” Staci has spent enough time shadowing Jacob over the last two months to know when he’s holding back. To know when Jacob is truly furious. He wanted to be the one to capture the Deputy, and John took that accomplishment away from him. Staci expects to suffer because of it.

Sighing dramatically, Faith continues, “Expect a call from Father soon. He’ll want us to be there at the Deputy’s baptism. Make sure to dress appropriately.” Faith slides off the desk and heads for the door. Before she leaves she glares at Staci one last time, then disappears down the hall.

—

Jacob remains at his desk, opening a report folder and staring into the page. His eyes go unfocused, words blurring together. He cannot react to this. His response in front of Pratt must be measured, correct. Tactical.

He’ll have to speak to Joe before deciding what to do with Pratt. Jacob expects to hear from his brother soon. All that effort spent in training Pratt, and in the end, the deputy remains as useless as before.

Pratt’s scent has been erratic since Faith arrived. Scared at first, overwhelmed when Faith tried to make Pratt accept her authority as a superior omega. Pratt didn’t even really understand what Faith was doing. Pratt didn’t understand what he was doing himself, throwing indiscriminately. 

When Faith said the Deputy was in John’s possession, Pratt turned to hopelessness. Jacob expected him to stay there. But now that Faith has gone, he’s calming down again. Returning to something akin to normal.

Except Jacob knows why Faith was so aggressive with her throw. And it’s not just to blindly assert her rank. 

Pratt just won’t slip into heat. Which doesn’t even matter now that Jacob doesn’t need him to lure the Deputy. But he still smells very _available_ and since the lodge, since Jacob made the mistake of letting Pratt get close, he’s been directing his availability _at_ Jacob. 

He doesn’t know any better.

If Joe keeps Pratt alive, Jacob will let Joe know that someone needs to teach Pratt how to control himself. If Pratt dies, it doesn’t matter.

—

Joe says they can decide what to do with the other hostages once the Deputy is baptized. Perhaps they will willingly join the flock.

Jacob bites his tongue. They don’t need Pratt to join the faithful. Jacob can’t speak about the beta John kept. Faith has already turned the alpha marshal. He’s not an issue, not any more than any other angel.

The plan is to bring Pratt to the baptism. Let him watch his precious Deputy accept the Father, whether by choice or force, with his own eyes. If Pratt joins right there and then, maybe Jacob can reassign him to an outpost. 

But Pratt’s heat finally comes.

Jacob can smell it through the door in the morning, he can hear Pratt whine with need. And he nearly forgets himself, putting his fingers on the door handle and twisting sharply, ready to throw the door off its hinges and get inside. Ready to pin Pratt down and take. It would be so easy. 

But Jacob manages to shake away the impulse. He has to get down to the Valley. Pratt won’t be his concern much longer. Dragging himself away, he finds a beta to leave in charge of Pratt. He gives concise instructions that no one else enters the room. The old patient rooms are already equipped with slots in the door for meals. 

The beta nods sharply and there’s really nothing more for Jacob to do. He’d left Pratt with a standard heat kit weeks ago, when they had both assumed Pratt’s heat was imminent. There’s nothing more for Jacob to do here even if he wasn’t needed in the Valley.

Jacob spends another two hours prowling the hallways of the hospital, his room, the cafeteria, passing Pratt’s cell, back to his room, the courtyard, back to his room, back to Pratt’s, his. He doesn’t even realize that time is ticking by.

Finally, he shakes himself from his daze and heads out to the waiting truck. The station tuned to pirate radio, the Whitetail kid comes on briefly to read the track. Happens every once in awhile. He likes the sound of his own voice, maybe. Jacob keeps hoping he’ll make a mistake on air.

“And in other news, Peggies turning in, you’ll want to listen up.”

John’s voice comes on over the handheld radio Jacob tossed in the passenger seat, “Jake?” He still sounds so young to Jacob’s ears.

John’s message blurs with the kid’s broadcast.

“The Deputy has escaped the clutches of the so-called Baptist.”

“I don’t….Father will know, I’m sorry. The Deputy, he…”

Jacob slams on the breaks. Leaving the radio on, he waits until the next song starts playing before grabbing up the handheld, “Where is he?”

“I don’t know, Jake.”

He turns the handheld off so John can’t hear, slamming his fists against the steering wheel, making the horn blare. He does it again and again until his fists feel raw, until he nearly breaks the fucking wheel off its stem. Once his initial anger cools, he turns back on the handheld, “Do I need to come fix this?”

“Father will know…”

“Listen to me, Johnny,” Jacob knows John has done more than he’s letting on. He doesn’t need to smell John to know that he’s panicked. They’ve all let the Deputy slip between their fingers before. They’re all at fault for dragging this out to the point of exhaustion. There is something John isn’t telling him, “I will come fix this.”

“Okay, Jake,” John’s sigh sounds almost like a sob, “Okay, Okay, I’ll wait for you.”

“Good boy,” Jacob tries to soothe. He isn’t good at comfort, and despite being the eldest, Joe is the head of their family. Joe should be the one trying to calm John down. But Jacob knows it’s Joe who has got John scared.

Jacob swings the truck around, heading back in the direction of the hospital. 

—

Staci runs. His bare feet in the grass. Where is he? Fuck.

He’s dimly aware that he’s in heat. Started in the early hours of the morning. Started when he could smell Jacob outside his door. Hear him breathing, waiting, _prowling_. There’s a gap in the cell door, where orderlies could shove a tray of food through to the patients they couldn’t touch. Jacob’s scent came seeping through, like the whole fucking Montana forest trying to invade Staci’s tiny room.

But Jacob hadn’t come inside. That’s good, Staci reminds himself. That’s safe. Jacob has been gone for hours, and Staci’s nerves are still frayed with unintentional want. With need. Terrifying, nebulous desire for another body pressed against his, covering him, to protect and care and with warm familiarity laced through with arousal. 

Jacob would be wrong, wrong, wrong. But he was so close, close, close.

Jacob hurts him, even when he’s pretending to be kind. Even when he forgets to be cruel.

Staci runs. His bare feet in the grass.

Where is he?

Fuck.

He runs as fast as his legs will carry him, slick sliding down his leg, clinging to his skin. The air smells of distant pine, clear water, open sky. Like so many times before, someone is coming up behind him, but Staci races onward. There are no corridors this time. No barricades, just an endless field and the expansive, cloudless sky.

Panting with exertion, Staci just wants to reach the finish line. He wants to escape. This is his chance to escape. Where is the other man? The one who always holds him close when he reaches the end of the training-dream? Will he be waiting now? Will he know where to find Staci?

Staci can see him now, in the distance, standing stone-still in the field. If Staci can reach him, he’ll be safe, he’ll be free. Just a little further.

He doesn’t make it to the end, the overwhelming scent of Jacob fills his nostrils and wakes him from the dream. Jacob is in the room with him, bright eyes wide and nostrils flared. He holds Staci’s wrists in his hands, his larger body looming over him on the mattress, knees pinned on either side of Staci’s hips.

“Jacob,” he croaks, trying to free his hands. Trapped, he can only arch his back, grinding his hips and cock between the apex of Jacob’s thighs. His head rolls to one side to expose his throat, and in an instant, Jacob’s nose presses against the gentle slope of Staci’s neck.

“No, fuck,” Jacob groans, his grip on Staci’s wrists tightening until the circulation cuts off. He grits his teeth and Staci realizes he can smell Jacob’s trepidation, his anxiety. It’s so strong and palpable, that even Staci can figure out what it means. “We have to get you in the truck. We have to...John.”

Staci has no idea what the fuck is going on, other than Jacob Seed starting to grind down against him, pressing his broad chest to Staci’s narrower one. Jacob is breathing like he just ran a marathon.

“Jacob,” Staci repeats, still confused and delirious. He wants to hold on to Jacob, to grab and claw and take. Not because it’s Jacob, but because he’s a warm, strong body. He’s an alpha and he’s available. Staci can feel the outline of Jacob’s cock and it feels big and thick and good. Jacob wouldn’t even have to do anything but lie there while Staci rode him, got the relief he needs.

Jacob groans against Staci’s neck, his forehead damp with sweat, “Stop that, stop it, Pratt. You have to stop.”

“Can’t,” Staci promises, “can’t.”

He feels Jacob’s blunt teeth against his throat, mouthing over Staci’s scent glands. Releasing Staci’s hands, Jacob reaches for the hem of Staci’s shirt instead, shoving both arms underneath to press himself closer to Staci’s body, more skin-on-skin. He wraps his arms around Staci’s back, hoisting him up off the mattress. Staci pulls his legs free out from under Jacob, wrapping them around Jacob’s waist to sit across his lap instead.

Better, that is so much fucking better. He can grind down on Jacob like this, and though it’s not as good as getting filled, just knowing that Jacob is that much closer to breaching him, to being inside him, heightens his blind arousal.

With his hands free, Staci wraps his arms around Jacob’s shoulders, reaching up to tangle his fingers in red hair at Jacob’s nape. He closes his fist and starts to pull until Jacob hisses in response, tilting his neck just enough that Staci can put his nose against where Jacob’s scent is strongest. Fuck, it would be so easy to bite down.

“Breed me,” Staci hisses, clamping his thighs tight around Jacob’s hips. He rolls into the friction Jacob offers, trying to rub his cock against Jacob’s abs.

Jacob starts coughing, almost wheezing. And Staci is dimly aware that he released more pheromones than he should have. But if it will get him what he wants, he’ll fucking do it again. 

“Now, Jacob, do it.”

Jacob wraps one arm securely around Staci’s back, the other one dropping lower to support his ass, Staci’s boxers soaked through already. Staci’s eyes fly open when he realizes Jacob is picking him up and carrying him out of the cell.

Staci has no idea where the fuck they’re going, or why. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t fucking care that the Peggies they pass are staring. After months of this, he’s fucking past the point of shame.

He stays wrapped around Jacob all the way to the courtyard. Jacob has to let go of his back to open the door of the truck. He tosses Staci into the back of the cab like his weight is nothing. Staci ends up sprawled across the seat.

Jacob slams the doors shut then gets into the driver’s side and starts the engine. Even with all the windows rolled down, the inside of the truck smells like them, thick and suffocating. Like the sex they’re not having.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Staci snaps, half sitting up in the back seat. He’s still hard and wet, clawing at the upholstery he’s ruining with his slick.

“Stop!” Jacob finally screams in frustration, letting out a scent so forceful that it drowns out Staci’s heat. But it’s not enough. It’s not enough to get Staci to back down when he’s already so riled up.

Laying on his back, Staci has enough leverage to kick sharp and hard at the half-door in the back of the truck cab. He kicks it once, twice, and Jacob yells at him again. The door must be compromised already, because it flies open on the third swift kick. Without thinking through the consequences, Staci scrambles towards the open door, launching himself out of the truck and towards the side of the road. He hits the ground hard, the whole side of his body going numb with shock, before rolling down the embankment and into the shallow creek.


	4. Chapter 4

Jacob stops the truck, brakes screeching to a halt. He throws it into park and jumps out the driver’s side. He’s quick enough that Pratt couldn’t have gotten far with his meager head start. As long as the omega isn’t dead, he can still serve his purpose injured. 

Sliding down the embankment, Jacob hits the creek, cold water soaking his pants through and causing the fabric to cling to his shins. He can’t see Pratt, but he can smell his retreat deeper into the woods.

Jacob sets off through the brush, gaining on Pratt with every step. Even if Pratt weren’t heat-addled, Jacob would be able to track him easily. It only takes minutes for Jacob to catch up, finding Pratt on his back in the brush, his eyes wild and pulse quick.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” Pratt chants, thrashing his head back and forth. The heat has turned Pratt aggressive, dominant and needy in a way Jacob didn’t anticipate. But maybe he should have. Pratt has never smelled particularly sweet. Decisively omega, yes, but not like one eager to please. 

Pratt has been terrified, Jacob realizes, but not truly submissive. It isn’t in Pratt’s character. 

“You fucking did this to me,” Pratt whines, “this is your fault, fix it.”

Jacob has no intention of ‘fixing’ Pratt’s heat. He’s been on a tightrope this whole time. Fuck. He’d nearly fell off in the hospital, Pratt’s scent enticing and raw in the cramped confines of his room. The pretty way he showed his neck, taunting Jacob to bite down. It’s easier for Jacob to control his instincts now, with Pratt’s scent dissipating in the open air. But even with the windows down, they were driving each other to hysterics in the truck. Jacob has to get Pratt to the Valley. He has to fix things before Joe takes out his anger on John.

“Get up, Peaches,” Jacob threatens, trying to assert his dominance once more. Trying to make Pratt fall in line and listen. But it’s hopeless. Pratt isn’t afraid. At least, he isn’t right now, too overcome by his heat and trying to find some satisfaction, even if it’s with an alpha he despises.

Jacob could just grab him, drag him back to the truck and toss him back inside. But that didn’t work the first time, and it’s over and hour drive still to John’s bunker. They can’t be at each other’s throats this whole time. Jacob can’t want his teeth on Pratt’s throat the whole time. Jacob will fucking crash the van first.

It’s a long shot, but Jacob pulls out the music box from his pants pocket. If he can thrust Pratt into a training scenario, he might be distressed, but it might keep him occupied for a bit. But as Jacob crouches low next to Pratt and turns the lever, Pratt springs into action, coming up on his knees and launching himself at Jacob faster than he could have anticipated.

Pratt is too small to overwhelm Jacob. Too delicate in his build. Even after eating normal rations for a month, he hasn’t regained the bulk he had before coming into Jacob’s custody. He’s still wiry and lean, and so much shorter. So even throwing his entire body against Jacob’s, he can’t knock him back.

But he’s put enough force into it to kick the wind out of Jacob, and that’s enough to make Jacob falter. Pratt has enough time to flood the air around them with his scent again, to try and force Jacob to concede, to give in. Pratt paws at the front of Jacob’s fatigues, trying to get them open. Jacob still has enough sense to grab his wrists and stop him.

It would be so, so easy to give Pratt what he wants, what he needs.

But Jacob can’t. He won’t. It will ruin everything.

If Pratt smells like another alpha has already fucked him in this heat, the Deputy won’t come for him. 

Thrashing in Jacob’s arms, Pratt tries to pry himself loose, screeching and pleading for Jacob to fix this. Pratt wouldn’t be in heat at all if not for him. 

Maybe there is a way to take the edge off of Pratt’s frantic arousal without making this situation worse? As long as he doesn’t knot the deputy, doesn’t put his cock in him, will it really make a difference? Jacob starts going dizzy at the thought, snaking one hand around Pratt’s back to slip under the waistband of his ruined boxers. Pratt would look so pretty on his knot though. Sweaty, frantic, and crying out for more. He’s just the size that Jacob likes, small enough to fit neatly in his lap as he bounces on Jacob’s dick, or Jacob could pin him down to the ground and take him as the heat keeps him delirious with need. 

Jacob manages to press two fingers against Pratt’s wet hole before he realizes what he’s doing. Jacob snatches his hand back as if he’s been burned, maybe he has been. This is madness.

If he could bring himself to beat Pratt down, the omega might obey. Or if Jacob hits him hard enough in the head, he might pass out, making it easier to drag him back to the truck. But Jacob can’t. As much as he tells himself he has to do this, to hurt Pratt and make him submit, Pratt smells warm and unmated and in need of protection. Of care. Jacob can’t care. But he can’t bring himself to strike him.

“Peaches, listen, listen,” Jacob has to try another way. He may not be able to hurt Pratt, but he can still lie. “I’ll take you back. I’ll take care of you. But not here,” Jacob scrambles for something to say. Something that will be enough that Pratt will be satisfied, “but not here, Peaches. You deserve better.”

“Liar,” Pratt snarls, “you hate me. I hate you. You don’t deserve shit.” His eyes go unfocused as he starts to slip under again. Maybe now he’s at least tired enough he’ll stop fighting so hard. “I don’t deserve shit either. I just need you to fuck me so this can fucking end.”

Pratt grabs at Jacob’s cock through his pants, wrapping his hand clumsily around the outline of Jacob’s erection. “You feel that, Peaches?” Jacob hates himself more with every word, “that’s for you, if you behave.”

Pratt leans forward to nip at Jacob’s adam’s apple, where he himself shaved Jacob clean two days ago. The stubble is already growing back. “Here,” Pratt commands. “You fuck me here.”

Jacob can’t. He can’t. Though every fiber, every nerve is screaming that he can. He should. Pratt was served up to him on a platter. What else would Joe expect him to do with a pretty young thing like Pratt?

It would be so easy, so expected, for Jacob to make Pratt his. _His_. To fuck Pratt full of cum until he’s drunk on it. Until he babbles to sweetly that there’s no one else. The pull of Pratt in this moment is so brilliantly strong that Jacob can’t make sense of what he’s thinking. All these improbable possibilities of making weak, annoying, useless Pratt his mate. He’s had three children from better, stronger, more beautiful omegas than this runt. But the way Pratt picks at Jacob’s skin leaves him aching.

They have to crawl back out of this. Jacob won’t let himself get pulled under.

“Not here,” Jacob whispers, cradling Pratt’s stubbled face in one hand. He curls his fingers around Pratt’s cheek, holding his head steady. Pressing his lips against Pratt’s, he imparts the briefest kiss he can manage, before Pratt tries to drown him again, caught up in the undertow of his heat. “But I will take care of you, I promise,” Jacob lies.

Pratt looks so utterly shell-shocked at Jacob’s brief affection that finally settles down.

—

Pratt rides in the passenger seat the rest of the way to John’s bunker, bundled up in a filthy blanket Jacob grabbed from the truck bed. His heat is still so thick that Jacob can taste it on his tongue as he drives. But at least Pratt is exhausted enough from his little adventure that he falls in and out of restless sleep.

He’s still asleep when Jacob pulls up to John’s compound. Jacob doesn’t know if it’s better to leave him in the truck or try to bring him inside. He’s bound to panic if he wakes up and finds Jacob gone. But getting him back into the truck without satisfying him will probably be impossible. 

Jacob ends up finding two betas and a bonded alpha to watch the truck. He tells them that if anything happens to Pratt, he’ll cull all three of them without question. The alpha is bold enough to smile at Jacob like she knows something. It’s infuriating to be disrespected, but her unwarranted pandering probably means she’ll actually do a decent job of guarding the truck.

One of the faithful just inside the bunker door tells Jacob that John has been waiting for him. Jacob already knows the way and pushes the girl aside, stalking through the hallway to John’s room.

He knocks, calling out to his brother to assure him that he’s here. John opens the door, his eyes are bloodshot, his clothing soaked in sweat.

As soon as John opens the door, Jacob knows exactly how bad this is.

They’re blood relations. John will never smell good to Jacob. But he can still discern his scent from other omegas. John’s scent is closer to Pratt than he is to Faith, but with a cloying-syrupy sweetness that both the others lack. It’s that sugary tinge that has always worried Jacob. That underlying, horrible need to please.

John’s scent has soured now from panic, but that’s not what knocks the air out of Jacob’s lungs. The stench of alpha over top of John’s is strangely sweet as well. 

They didn’t fuck. Which is a small mercy. John isn’t in heat and the scent of the Deputy is layered on top of his, not blended like it would be from sex. But the Deputy came _on_ him somewhere. Which clears up some things about how the Deputy got away.

Jacob cringes before asking, only because John is his brother. But he has to be absolutely sure, “Not in you?”

Shaking his head, John mouths, “No.”

“I’m going to go catch him. I have a plan.” But before he does anything else, Jacob wraps his arms around John, pulling him close and using in much larger size to shield John from everything else. John tucks his head in against Jacob’s chest and Jacob does his best to let John know _it’s okay, I’ll protect you, I’ll make this right,_ without uttering a word. John breathes heavily against him, his whole body shaking. 

“Take a shower,” Jacob instructs, “wash everything, but change your sheets with someone else’s.” Jacob thinks for a moment on what is going to keep Joe’s anger at bay. “Get sheets from a male beta. Okay? Put them on your bed.” Joe will be disappointed that John was fucking around with one of the faithful, but it’s better than the alternative. “I love you, Johnny. I’ll be back.” He kisses the top of John’s head before heading back to the truck.

—

Staci wakes, his eyes opening to a dark, starry sky. The air is cold and so is he, though he’s still in the midst of his heat. His mind is clearer now. But everything is a mess.

He remembers Jacob holding him close. Kissing him, brief, gentle, nearly sincere. Promising to take care of him. And as much as Staci knows it’s wrong, knows that he still hates Jacob for all he’s done, all he’ll continue to do, he aches for comfort, for resolution. 

Jacob wouldn’t be gentle. He wouldn’t be nice. He couldn’t be.

Staci hasn’t had a heat since he was a teen. So he sure as fuck hasn’t had sex in heat. He has seen heat-porn, though, gotten turned on by it. Even though he knows it’s acting. Omegas pretending to be out of their mind with Lust. Alphas pounding into their ass or cunt or mouth until they’re sobbing and wrecked and satiated, locked onto fat knots and come dripping from their holes.

Hell, he’s play-acted heats before. In the realm of possible role-plays, it’s a pretty tame scenario. Inhibited alphas and suppressed omegas miming “urges” for the fun of it. He’s begged for knots and pretended that he couldn’t control himself in the midst of sex. Let alphas that he trusted bend him in half and fuck him so hard they left bruises all over his hips and thighs. Had one guy he played with who started saying filthy shit about knocking Staci up, even though he was wearing a condom and Staci has a copper iud. That had been a little too far for Staci and he hadn’t called the guy again. Though in the moment...it was hot.

But it’s so different, being in the thick of heat himself. The periods of lucidity punctuated by a cloud of arousal he can’t shake are disorententing at best. Staci remembers everything, though maybe not in the right order. He remembers falling in the creek, shouting at Jacob to fuck him already.

Jacob.

Staci sits up, his hands in the dew-wet grass. Fuck knows where he is. Maybe he can’t remember everything, because how the fuck did he get here? 

There’s a silo and a barn in the distance. But the silo is painted with the Peggie cross. He can’t go there. But he can’t stay here, either. He pushes himself to his feet. Though he’s still in heat, he feels okay for now. Well enough to try and get the fuck out of here. How did he get away from Jacob?

In the opposite direction of the barn, a civilian van drives along the road. Staci considers shouting at them to stop, but they’re too far away and traveling too quickly. If he can get closer to the road, he can try and flag someone down.

He’s still dressed in his filthy shirt and boxers, everything is covered in dried creek scum and slick and he feels like fucking shit. Cautiously, he takes a step, then another, still unable to believe he’s free.

Crouching low along the side of the road, Staci waits for a car that looks safe to come into view. It’s dark, but the headlights can at least warn him someone is approaching. It’s hard to tell the color of the car before it gets close. 

One car passes, then another, before Staci realizes that he has to take a risk. By the time the cars are close enough for him to tell if they’re friend or foe, they’re already gone. 

He waits, and waits. But no one else comes.

The sun starts to rise and his skin starts to itch, uncomfortable need simmering beneath the surface. He has to move, he has to get to safety before the peggies find him first. But he can’t place where he even is. Maybe if he just keeps walking south. South means away from the mountains, away from Jacob Seed.

But he can’t manage a single step before the scent hits him, like caramel mixed with black pepper, strange but not uninviting. An alpha he doesn’t recognize. 

Except he does.

Only, the last time he caught the edges of his scent, it was chemically masked, only the barest hint seeping through. The Deputy. 

Realization hits Staci like a brick to the face.

_Trap, trap, trap, this is a trap._

He has to warn the Deputy. He has to tell him to stay away. But he can’t just scream it out. Jacob is somewhere, watching, waiting. Far enough away that he can’t smell the Deputy, and the Deputy can’t smell him. Staci has to warn him without alerting Jacob.

This could be his chance to get out. But if he lets Jacob find the Deputy, there will be nothing left of Hope County. John captured the Deputy? But now he’s free? Staci has to be strong.

“Cay,” Staci whines, “Fuck….Cay, need you...please.”

He hates how genuine he sounds, how in need of saving. He can only hope that he doesn’t sound like himself. And while “Cay,” is close enough to the Deputy’s name that Jacob wouldn’t question, it’s not an endearment Staci would have ever used before with Caleb. They don’t know each other that well.

“Cay,” He sobs, “please...”

It’s easy to keep up the waterworks. Staci is truly on the edge of breaking down completely. He’s unsatisfied and frustrated beyond measure. He cries until the Deputy’s scent peters out, then goes quiet, waiting for his punishment.

But at least he’s fucked Jacob over.


	5. Chapter 5

The Deputy never comes for Pratt, and Jacob doesn’t have the time to keep waiting. Pratt doesn’t do anything at all, after the first hour when he tried to flag down a passing car and failed. After that, he returned to the middle of the field, sat down, and cried.

Jacob doesn’t go to him. He can’t. 

But the Deputy doesn’t come, and Pratt falls back asleep in the grass, worn from his unsatiated heat.

Why wouldn’t the Deputy come when Pratt smells so good? Warm and ready for a knot. More than that, he smells in need of affection and comfort and…

This didn’t work. Perhaps the Deputy is too far away to smell Pratt at all. But why is Pratt not trying to find help? Even if the Deputy didn’t come to Pratt, Jacob was certain that he would try and seek help, and, eventually, that would mean someone bringing him to the Deputy.

Maybe Pratt is too deep into his heat to think straight. The timing isn’t what Jacob planned. He wanted Pratt lucid, scared, but able to seek assistance. Able to stand on his own two feet and run. John’s mistake forced Jacob to act too soon, and Pratt’s heat has made it difficult to see the plan through properly. Jacob must adapt.

He can’t leave Pratt here, so Jacob makes his way back down the hill from where he has been observing the omega. He strides through the field, battling back his own instincts once again as Pratt’s scent invades his senses. 

Pratt startles awake as Jacob comes close, no doubt keenly alert to his presence.

“Come on, Peaches, time to go,” Jacob sighs. He’ll lock Pratt up in one of John’s rooms back at the bunker, then go after the Deputy himself. “Time to head back.”

Pratt’s voice is raw and broken, “You’re a liar.”

“I am,” Jacob admits. That’s the very least of his sins.

—

Staci can barely support his own weight by the time they return to John’s bunker. He doesn’t try to fight Jacob any more. Even if he were to manage to escape, he can’t lead Jacob back to the Deputy. He refuses to be an accessory to this.

Mercifully, Jacob allows him to lean against his side as they take the stairs down into the bunker. Staci clings to him, trying to stay stable on his feet. He no longer cares where they’re going. He just has to survive this heat, he’ll figure out what the fuck he’s doing on the other side.

Jacob still smells too good, too close. But that’s just unavoidable. Biology. Staci is still capable of making his own decisions. And he’s forcing himself not to choose Jacob.

Jacob doesn’t want him anyway. 

Fishing in his pocket, Jacob paws out a key for a room, unlocking it and shoving Staci inside. He’s about to close the door when a second alpha fills the air, one with the same undercurrent of wood and musk, but with a harsh edge that Staci doesn’t like. He doesn’t like it at all, but he doesn’t really have the vocabulary to explain why.

Joseph lays his hand on Jacob’s shoulder, turning his older brother around. Jacob starts to shut the door, but Joseph stops him, peering inside at Staci curled up in the bed, his back against the wall and knees curled close to his chest. 

“He’s in heat,” Joseph raises one eyebrow.

Staci snaps, “It’s a thing that happens to omegas without suppressants.”

In an instant, he regrets lashing out at Joseph. Every time he threatens Jacob, Jacob would come back at him stronger, fiercer, but he still smelled good. Joseph just gets worse, until Staci starts to cough.

“We should talk,” Jacob tries to wrangle the situation, urging Joseph away from the door.

Joseph breaks into a smile, but doesn’t move, even when Jacob presses his palm against Joseph’s chest. “You should show Deputy Pratt his place, only then will he start to accept…”

“Joe,” Jacob snarls.

Staci recoils. His heart races inside his chest as Jacob takes a step to the side, covering the doorway and blocking Joseph’s view.

“I will deal with him later,” Jacob shoves as Joseph again.

When Joseph raises his hand, Staci goes on high alert. Instead of cowering, he pitches forward, coming up on his hands and knees, in case he has to move quickly. What the fuck is he doing?

Joseph’s terrible scent flares one last time before dropping out. Instead of striking Jacob, he puts his hand on his shoulder instead, thumb pressed against Jacob’s jugular, “Alright, Jacob.”

Jacob is finally able to close the door.

—

Joe listens pensively as John explains how the Deputy slipped through his fingers. He was returning Joey Hudson to her cell. The Deputy broke his bonds and knocked out four guards on his way to freedom. The second part of John’s tale is true. Technically, part of the first might be true as well. Jacob doesn’t want details about what actually went down.

In the end, Joe is disappointed, angry, frustrated. There is Wrath simmering in his blood. If he tries to punish John...Jacob isn’t sure what he’ll do. He’s fought Joe before and lost, despite being older, larger, and better trained. Afterwards, Joe started talking about visions. The first one being that he was destined to lead their family. He saw himself besting Jacob. Since then, all his other visions have come to pass as well.

But John is their brother. They are supposed to protect him. 

Jacob was old enough...Joe was too. They should have protected John. Kept him from being hurt. So that John didn’t become like them. Worse than the two of them, really.

Joe pets John’s head, stroking his hair while John keeps his head bowed, “Oh, child, we still have time. What will come to pass will descend upon us when the right moment comes.”

As Joe leaves the room he gestures for Jacob to follow.

“I can find him,” Jacob insists, once they have left John’s room. “Track him.”

“You will do no such thing,” Joe says, “You will return to the Whitetails. If the Deputy enters your territory, you may use any means you see fit to capture him. But you are not to encroach in the Valley.”

“Joe,” Jacob warns. They must be careful in the hallways of the bunker, where the faithful may overhear.

“It is the way of things, we must follow the path laid out before us.”

Jacob bites his tongue.

—

Staci’s heat breaks in the early morning hours. He’s beyond exhausted, throwing his head back against the pillow, all he wants to do is rest.

He thinks he’s still in John Seed’s bunker. At least, the room is strange and unfamiliar. Definitely not the hospital. Staci rolls from his back onto his stomach, tossing the dildo he’s been making use of onto the floor. He is so beyond any sense of decency. Jacob has spent the last three days hauling him across the county, dumping him in an open field to use as live bait, letting his brothers see him at his most vulnerable. So fuck it. Fuck all of it, honestly.

Staci should try and figure out what happened to his boxers, because Jacob sure as fuck didn’t bring him any fucking pants. He ends up finding them bunched up on the floor, but they’re so gross and hard with dried slick, that Staci definitely can’t put them back on.

Flopping back into bed, he hopes he can at least get some decent rest before whatever the fuck else is about to happen. But, of fucking course, like goddamn clockwork, Jacob opens the door to the room, his clean, crisp scent gently filling the enclosed space.

“Come on, Peaches, time to go.”

Staci stays face first in the pillow, mumbling that he has no pants.

Jacob wrinkles his nose, leaves, comes back with fresh clothes. A whole set of boxers, jeans, and a shirt. He waits for Staci to get up and dress. What Staci really needs is a shower, but that’s probably pushing it. Everything sort of fits, but the jeans are a little long. They’re slim cut, hard to roll up at the ankle. John’s clothes, maybe?

As they exit the room and head towards the bunker door, Staci grabs the collar of the shirt and pulls it up so that he can smell it properly. It’s not dirty, but it’s not clean either. Like it’s been worn once already. There’s a sweet, omega scent in the fibers. Definitely John’s, though Staci only really smelled John once before, the night of the helicopter crash. And at that point, he wasn’t as adept at picking out individual scents. Living among the Peggies has given him more experience. 

Staci climbs into the passenger seat of Jacob’s truck himself. Right now, he doesn’t have a plan, other than keeping out of trouble, and out of Caleb’s hair. Staci will do what he can, but his priority has got to be not to make things worse.

It’s pitch dark as they drive back to the Whitetails. Jacob leaves the radio on and the windows open. Staci stares out into the void.

“You’re quiet, Peaches,” Jacob says in the lull between tracks.

Jacob has never really been much for conversation. Orders, insults, directions. But not conversation. Despite the turmoil of Staci’s heat, nothing between them has really changed. Staci is still his captive. Jacob is still a monster. Both their mouths are filled with lies, it doesn’t matter that they touched.

“You prefer it that way,” Staci responds.

In the driver’s seat, Jacob sighs. Neither of them dare to speak again.

—

The next week passes like the one before. Jacob wakes him early in the morning. They eat. Staci follows Jacob around the hospital, takes notes, reads reports. The Deputy has been spotted in the Henbane again. By the end of the week, he’s seen at the edge of Jacob’s territory. The next day, a scout reports seeing him at the Drubman homestead.

Jacob sends two expert trackers to tail him. If they have an open shot, they are to drug him and bring him in, alive. All the hairs on Staci’s arms stand up. Jacob means to bring the Deputy here, to the hospital. He has to do something.

Another week, and the Deputy still eludes Jacob’s grasp. Staci can’t help smiling about it behind closed doors. As if every minute the Deputy spends terrorizing Jacob brings him closer to the end. Maybe he doesn’t make it out of this hospital, but he doesn’t stay locked inside either.

Things are strange between them, as much as Staci tells himself nothing has changed. Jacob is no kinder. But he’s different. He flinches sometimes, when Staci moves. His gaze lingers too long. Staci isn’t stupid enough to think it’s about anything more than his heat. 

They could have fucked, but they didn’t. It’s better this way. At the time, Staci felt as if he was drowning, and wouldn’t surface without Jacob’s help. But that was only the fever of his heat. Jacob still smells good, but it’s tolerable. It doesn’t keep him awake at night.

And then, one evening, when the sun is low enough that the hospital halls are dark, because they’re running out of fresh bulbs to replace the ones that blow out, Jacob pushes Staci against the wall, pinning him in with either forearm bracketed on the side of Staci’s head. And for a terrifying second, Staci thinks Jacob will bend down to and kiss him again. But this time without the haze (and excuse) of heat. Staci’s heart rate picks up, a hammer in his chest. Jacob leans in close, close, until he’s all Staci can see or smell or hear. They’re alone, not even distant footsteps to disrupt their standoff. The wall is cold against Staci’s back and Jacob’s chest hot against his.

Jacob dips his head low, curling his back to compensate for how short Staci is in comparison. He presses his nose to Staci’s neck, it’s freezing, even though his breath is warm. 

Staci doesn’t know what to do with his hands, other than press them against Jacob’s chest. He tries to hold his breath, to not breathe in, give in.

And as soon as it’s begun, it’s over, Jacob pulling away, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. He turns to continue down the hall, with Staci following after. Not until he’s locked Staci inside his cell, can Staci finally breathe again. He doesn’t know what the fuck that was, and he’s not sure he wants to.

—

“Rise and shine, Peaches,” Jacob taunts, “we have a very special guest.”

Jacob’s barely concealed glee can only mean one thing, the Deputy is here. Caleb. Caleb who Staci barely knows, but who has been his only hope in these long months of captivity. Caleb who has been cutting across the county like a tornado, dredging up peggies in his wake. A force of nature.

But if Caleb is here, that means Jacob’s men caught up with him. That means he’s a prisoner too. Staci resolves right then and there that he’ll make sure that the Deputy makes it out of the hospital alive. He’s too important. Far more important than Staci.

Staci will risk everything for this.

—

Deputy Caleb Nylander is somehow more, and somehow less, than Jacob expected.

He’s as tall as Jacob, broad shouldered, trim waist. Can’t be over thirty at most, with the smooth, almost squeaky-clean skin that comes with youth. The hair on his face is darker than on his head, a sort of walnut brown. There’s little remarkable about him, muddy hazel eyes, and a scent that is too sweet for an alpha. Weak. But even the weak can be bothersome. And Nylander has proven to be that.

Nylander looks up from his place on the floor, his eyes still blown out from the drugs. He covers his nose and his mouth with his open palm, but that won’t do anything in regards to keeping Jacob out. Jacob will make him submit. Prove who is the stronger of the two. And he knows already that Nylander will give in. It may just take time.

“Come here, Peaches,” Jacob sneers. He wants Nylander to get a good look at Pratt, to see what he has done to the other deputy in the months since the crash. Proof of Jacob’s control.

Or, at least, a passable illusion of it.

“Staci?” Nylander asks, shaking his head to try and clear his vision. “You’re still alive, thank god. I thought.”

Staci doesn’t breathe a word. His scent doesn’t change. Jacob has no choice but to proceed. He turns the music box, dragging Nylander under the spell of song. Jacob has reports that the Deputy has met with Eli Palmer and the Whitetails several times already. Jacob will use this alpha, so eager to please, to lead him to their nest.

Behind him, Staci stumbles, falling to the ground and clutching at his ears in vain. He holds out longer than Nylander, before surrendering to the song.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remember that all consent happening here is extremely dubious. I’ve chosen not to use warnings on this fic, but a lot of people would consider this straight non-con because Staci is in a position where he can’t say no without fear of repercussions

Staci wakes up running. This time, he recognizes the open field, it’s the one down in the Valley, where Jacob dumped him as live bait for Caleb. His lungs already burn with exertion, his pant legs are soaked through with water. Staci sprints like he couldn’t in reality, his heat wouldn’t let him run like this. But now, he can only barrel towards the finish line.

He’s run so many times before in these red-tinged dreams. Run until his legs and lungs give out. Thrown himself at the mercy of the man standing at the end, waiting for him, because that’s the only condition under which Jacob lets the dream come to a close.

The moon is high and the stars so bright, it almost feels like day. Staci closes on the figure ahead of him, but this time, instead of faceless, he knows it’s Caleb.

It’s only ever been Caleb. A man, an alpha, who he doesn’t have any particular feelings about. But it would be so convenient for Jacob if he did.

Dream-Caleb opens his arms in greeting, ready to receive Staci. To wrap his arms around Staci and hold on tight.

But there’s another option. There’s always been a choice. Right? Choosing Caleb is what Jacob wants.

Staci stops running, just three steps from the end. The footfall behind him grows louder, closer, the breathing of his pursuer more distinct. Staci has to try to make this right. He has to be useful, even though he’s weak.

He turns around, takes two steps away from Caleb, and meets the man who has been chasing him. Before, always faceless. But Staci knows. He knew.

Jacob.

The dream ends.

—

Jacob must have dumped Staci in his cell after he passed out. Fuck. Staci jumps out of bed, grabbing the door handle. Unlocked. Why is it unlocked? Jacob is never careless with the lock. It’s as much to keep other people out as to keep Staci in. There’s no time to dwell on the strangeness. Staci has to get Caleb out.

Caleb, last time Staci saw him, was being kept in one of the central pens. Which means there are three sets of keys. Jacob’s, the head guard on shift, and the Peggie in charge of the cleaning crews. The guard, he’s Staci’s best bet.

Staci walks the halls of the hospital with feigned confidence. He’s normally kept under such close supervision, that he’s not sure how the peggies will react to seeing him roaming around alone. As he passes a group of them crowded in a doorway, one does a double-take, but none question why he’s alone.

Taking the stairs down to the ground floor, Staci realizes he has to have a plan about getting the keys. It might be easiest just to isolate the guard and knock him out. Jacob is going to know exactly what Staci did in any case, so he might as well go for broke.

As he enters the makeshift jail, Staci quickly identifies the shift-leader. There are only three guards working at any one time. They’re specially trained by Jacob and he has the utmost confidence in them. There’s no need to overstaff.

Staci walks up to the guard, a soft-faced beta with dark hair and a reddish beard, and tells him that Jacob is asking for him. The guard simply shrugs, following after Staci back towards the stairs. Once both of them are out of the line of sight of the other two guards, Staci springs into action.

He’s decent enough at hand-to-hand, had to be for work. He’s quick enough to cut the guard off before he can make any noise, wrapping his arm around the guard’s neck and choking him out within seconds. Staci is breathing heavy by the time he’s done. Swiping the keys, he readies himself for the next challenge ahead.

He leaves the guard’s body on the floor. There are just the two left inside the room. Crouching low to the floor, he tries to stay well hidden behind the weapons crates that haven’t been moved into the basement yet. He gets behind the first guard, snapping his fist quickly against the back of the guard’s head and taking her to the floor. He’s messier with the second one, sliding around the corner of the cell to come up behind him. He doesn’t have to worry as much about the noise, and simply bashes him over the head with the heavy key ring. The guard lets out a little yelp but Staci smashes him in the face when he turns around and then goes for his throat, holding tight until his body goes limp.

“Staci?” Caleb asks, his voice thick and raspy from across the room. “Staci what is going on?”

Staci dashes over to Caleb’s cell, fiddling with the key ring, “I’m getting you out, ”his palms sweat as he flips through the keys. “I’m getting you the fuck out of here.”

“What about me?” One of the prisoners in the other cell asks.

Staci snaps, “Not you, you’re not strong enough.” He’s taken aback by his own callousness. But it’s true. Caleb has to be the priority here. No one else matters. Not even Staci.

Fitting the key into the lock, Staci opens the cell door. Caleb scrambles to his feet, before standing close and putting his hand on Staci’s lower back. “Where are we going?”

“The courtyard,” Staci explains, grabbing Caleb’s other hand and pulling him in the right direction. The hand slips off his back and only then does Staci realize how weird that was. But he soon realizes that Caleb isn’t inhibited either. He wasn’t weeks ago when they almost crossed paths in the field during Staci’s heat. Presumably, they can’t get pharmaceutical shipments into the county anymore. 

Staci leads them to the second floor balcony overlooking the courtyard. They’re careful to avoid the peggies, though he’s sure between the two of them, they could fight off most of the rank and file. 

“You have to go,” Staci hisses, letting go of Caleb’s hand and pushing him towards the railing. “The gate opens with the switch on the right.”

“Where is he?” Jacob’s voice booms down the hall.

Jacob grabs at Staci’s arm, his hazel eyes bright in the sunlight, “You’re coming with me.”

Staci shakes his head, “soon, not yet. You have to get out. I have to slow Jacob down.”

“Staci,” Caleb whines, trying to pull him towards the railing too.

He can hear Jacob’s boots outside the door. 

“Go!” Staci shrieks, shoving Caleb with all his might, until he topples off the balcony, landing with a hard thud in the dirt below. 

There’s no time to check on him. Jacob comes roaring through the door and Staci does the only thing he can think of, launching himself at Jacob and throwing out whatever panicked, confused scent he can manage, as strongly as he can manage it. He wraps his arms tight around Jacob’s waist and squeezes, before he realizes he’s passing out, the fight draining out of him as his strength slips away. 

Jacob tosses him to the side, in pursuit of Caleb.

—

Staci wakes up in his room, the lights are off, the air eerily quiet. He wraps the bedsheets around his waist, climbing out of bed and stepping toward the door. Trying the handle, he finds it locked. The only thing to do is crawl back into bed.

He touches his face, his bare chest, trying to find evidence of trauma. His side and hip hurt, but only about as much as can be accounted for by Jacob throwing Staci off of him. Staci stares up at the ceiling, terrified of what comes next.

—

Jacob doesn’t come for him in the morning. Then it’s afternoon. Staci starts to wonder if Jacob plans on leaving him in his cell forever. Maybe until he starves. But just as hunger starts to gnaw at him, one of the peggies slip him a meal through the door.

Staci sits cross legged on the floor, eats his sandwich, drinks the water, and sends the tray back out. There’s nothing else to do in the room. He ends up falling back asleep on the floor.

After the sun goes down, he’s fed another meal through the slot. But still no Jacob.

A second day passes the same as the first. Staci takes one of his clean shirts, wetting it in the tiny sink and trying to wipe himself down. It sort of works. Jacob still doesn’t come.

This isolation is a crueler punishment than Staci could have imagined. He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, and the anticipation of what is to come keeps him on edge, even though there’s nothing else to do but eat and sleep and shit.

By the third night, Staci is crawling up the walls. He paces the cell until his feet hurt, tearing at his hair, picking at his skin. Around three in the morning, he finally curls up in bed. Starts to devise a way to off himself before he dies from this slow misery.

He manages to fall asleep, but not for long. The key in the lock is the loudest sound he’s heard in absolute ages.

Staci is fully awake in seconds, but too shocked to move. Laying still in the bed, he waits for Jacob to move first. And he knows it’s Jacob, from the clean, fresh scent that fills the room. The cell door clicks closed, and Staci shuts his eyes.

“Pratt,” Jacob hisses in the darkness. Before waiting for an answer, he climbs into bed, on top of Staci, grabbing his wrists and yanking them over Staci’s head, “I know you’re awake.”

Staci opens his eyes, and even in the darkness, Jacob’s are bright and clear. His weight is heavy over Staci’s hips, warm and solid. 

“I should put you in your place, Staci Pratt,” Jacob says, keeping both of Staci’s wrists pinned with one of his big hands.

Oh.

But he can’t.

Somehow, Staci has known this for a long time. Weeks, maybe, since his heat at least. Maybe somehow he knew earlier, but never knew what to do with this information. 

“You won’t. You can’t,” Staci challenges, trying to push his hips up to meet Jacob’s weight. Without the use of his hands, the most he can manage is to arch his back, try and throw his scent, disorient Jacob the best he can. Make Jacob submit to _him_.

Staci isn’t sure he throws “right,” he’s only ever done it in heat or in a panic. He doesn’t have the fine tuned control the Seeds seem to possess. But he tries to replicate the times he’s acted on instinct, filling the room and trying to push Jacob back out.

Above him Jacob growls, shifting his legs so one starts to spread Staci’s thighs apart, the other on the outside of Staci’s leg. Staci doesn’t fight him, leaning into the friction instead and starting to rub himself against Jacob’s offered thigh.

Jacob wants him. Jacob wants to fuck him outside his heat. But something is holding him back. That means forcing Jacob to give in will count as a win for Staci. Ammunition to use against him.

“Aren’t you going to ‘put me in my place?’” Staci mocks, tilting his head upwards to expose his neck to Jacob’s gaze. He still doesn’t have much room to maneuver, but Staci bends one knee to better angle his half-hard cock against Jacob’s body.

Jacob’s hands are clammy, his forehead smeared in sweat. And Staci Pratt is winning.

“It’s what you want, isn’t it? And the strong take from the weak?” Staci smiles, showing Jacob his teeth.

“Fuck,” Jacob curses, letting go of Staci’s hands so he can undo the fly of his fatigues. “Fucking worthless, should have, should have killed you. Put you in the fucking ground.”

Staci laughs, full-chested and ringing with glee. As Jacob struggles with his pants, Staci pulls off his own boxers. Parting his knees, he puts his fingers to his hole.

Not in heat, Staci isn’t wet yet. His cock is hard though, as much from the rush of power as anything else. It won’t take long to get himself wet enough. Jacob doesn’t bother with his shirt, just pushing down his pants and pulling out his cock. Long and fat and nestled in bright hair. But Staci tests the boundaries of his control over Jacob in this moment, “Take off everything.”

“No,” Jacob snaps, grabbing Staci underneath his knees and jerking him around until his legs fall over Jacob’s shoulders. Adjusting, Jacob ends up with half his body off the bed to get his mouth down level with Staci’s hole. “Should have killed you, when I had the chance.”

Jacob licks Staci from his hole up to his balls then back down again, before better focusing his attention on the rim. The wash of pleasure is slow and easy to build, Staci dropping his head back against the mattress, and moving his legs a little more to get comfortable. Jacob’s mouth is hot against him, his beard rough but not unpleasant. Staci cards his fingers into Jacob’s hair, using his other hand to stroke his cock.

He feels it as his slick starts to mix with Jacob’s spit, preparing him to take Jacob’s cock with ease. Jacob practically hums against him, lapping him up to get his fill. Pulling back, Jacob goes in with two fingers at first, opening Staci up just enough that Jacob will be able to get the head of his cock inside. 

“You’d better make me come,” Staci says, grabbing at the collar of Jacob’s shirt to pull him up.

Jacob’s mouth and beard are wet with slick, glistening in the sliver of light coming through the narrow slot-window. 

Hiking up Staci’s legs around his waist, Jacob slides the head of his cock against Staci’s hole. “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” Jacob warns.

Staci doesn’t have the option of considering if he wants this or not. This is how he survives. This is how he helps Caleb take back the county. This is how he proves his usefulness. 

He rolls his hips to meet Jacob’s, as Jacob finally thrusts into him. Jacob is thick, but not unmanageable. There’s an unmistakable burn that is its own sort of thrill as Staci tries to bear down on Jacob’s cock, helping Jacob push his way inside. Okay, and as inch by inch slots inside him, maybe Staci admits that Jacob’s cock isn’t quite as ‘manageable’ as he thought.

Above him Jacob curses, a soft, “Fuck,” as he finally bottoms out. Staci’s fairly certain he has tears in his eyes. But hopefully the darkness will hide them.

“Not like this,” Jacob snarls, pulling out sharply and grabbing Staci by the waist. He flips Staci over on his stomach fast enough to give Staci whiplash, before grabbing his hips and thrusting back in.

This time it’s Staci’s turn to curse. He buries his face against the mattress so he doesn’t have to worry about his eyes. He feels like the wind has been knocked out of him, as Jacob starts to thrust. 

Jacob is slow at first, steadily gaining momentum as Staci starts to loosen up. Staci feels so fucking full already, to the point of bursting. He’s taken knots before, but he’s not entirely sure where Jacob’s is supposed to fit with the way he’s stretched around the girth of it already.

With his hands free, Staci starts to claw into the sheets, tries to lift his hips and fuck back onto Jacob’s cock. He’s not accustomed to being used like some sort of passive hole. And when Jacob starts to pull back, Staci pushes himself up on his arms to try and get some leverage. When he manages to hilt Jacob sooner than he’s expecting, Staci can’t help but smile at the gasp he gets in return.

Jacob coils his arms around Staci’s midsection, dragging him up until Staci’s back is against his chest. Staci sits back on his cock, hissing at the new angle and how the stretch of it is different than their previous position. He barely has time to catch his breath before Jacob starts lifting him back off his dick and slamming him back down.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Staci pants, reaching behind his head to try and grab at Jacob’s hair. It’s not really long enough to get a tight hold, but he yanks at what he can, refusing to let Jacob force his surrender.

Jacob’s hand comes to wrap around Staci’s cock, stroking it with clumsy rhythm. Alphas aren’t usually good at this, trying to split their attention between their cock and doing literally anything else. Staci’s fucking shocked that Jacob even tries. Batting Jacob’s hand away, Staci palms himself instead, tightening his grip and trying to get off before Jacob knots him.

Oh fuck, he hopes that Jacob doesn’t actually knot him. He doesn’t want to be stuck tied to Jacob for however long it takes to go down. He assumes Jacob feels the same. But the spiteful, cornered animal part Staci’s brain says to make sure Jacob can’t go. That he’s stuck here to deal with the consequences of his actions. That Staci makes it abundantly clear that Jacob is weak in Staci’s presence.

“That’s it, Jacob, knot me,” Staci grits his teeth. He doesn’t think Jacob is going to need much encouragement, he can already feel the start of Jacob’s knot catching on his rim. “Fill me up...fuck,” Staci’s abdomen grows tight as Jacob swells again, enough that he can feel himself racing towards his orgasm. Enough that he almost yells at Jacob to stop before he’s the one who loses control. 

But there’s little fighting it in the end, touching his cock and Jacob’s growing knot have him pinned in. As for awful-terrible-wrong this is, everything feels good. Staci feels better than he has in ages, even through his heat. Jacob’s scent wrapped around him, and Jacob’s thick arms too. Staci throws his head back against Jacob’s shoulder as he comes, thin, clear fluid spilling from his cock and onto the mattress. Through the haze of his orgasm, he can feel Jacob knotting him, the rush of come that accompanies an alpha’s orgasm. Staci has never minded in the past, it’s kind of a head trip in itself, to be held in place and filled in steady waves. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Jacob squeezes Staci around his waist, trying to tip them both over onto their sides. Thank fuck Jacob isn’t going to try and lay on top of him. Staci mostly complies as they try to find a position that isn’t going to hurt either one of them.

Jacob rests his forehead onto Staci’s shoulder. Silent, otherwise than breathing.

Staci is wide awake now, staring at the empty wall. He tries to keep the terrified panic in his chest from bursting out. A thousand different scenarios running through his head. What if this didn’t work? What if Jacob leaves him to rot in this cell again? What if he simply realizes he can order some other peggie to fucking kill him? What if what if what if.

“Jacob?” he finally asks. Because talking or not talking, Jacob is going to make a decision regarding Staci’s fate.

“Shut up,” Jacob snaps, and Staci realizes that Jacob’s panic far outweighs his own.


	7. Chapter 7

Jacob waits until he’s certain Pratt is asleep before slipping out of bed. He finds his pants bunched up in the corner of the room, pulling them on and patting his pockets for his keys.

This is so fucked.

Pratt hasn’t stirred, just shifted slightly in the bed to lay over the indented space that Jacob vacated. Probably still warm, definitely still smells like Jacob. Even now, it’s hard for Jacob to pull away, to leave. But he has to get out of here, before he does something else fucking stupid. Pratt definitely smells like him now.

And, God, do they smell good together.

Slipping out of the room, Jacob locks Pratt in. His hands shake around the keys, his instincts still screaming that he’s supposed to stay. He’s supposed to stay until Pratt tells him to go, or at least until Jacob is certain he’s fine. Nothing about this is fine.

Though he smells of sex, of Pratt, he heads out to the courtyard, barking at the guard on duty to open the gate for him. He won’t be gone long. The guard is a beta, probably can’t actually tell that Jacob just knotted the captive deputy by scent alone.

Jacob peels out of the courtyard too quickly, tires grinding hard against the gravel as he turns onto the road. Mentally, he flips through all the pharmacy locations up in the mountains. He hopes they haven’t all been picked clean.

He drives east until he pulls up to the nearest grocery, remembering there being a little druggist tucked into the back of the shop. The pharmacist wasn’t even in five days a week, maybe three if he was feeling up to it. 

Jacob walks through the abandoned shop, in between shelves of rotted food, stuff that spoiled before anyone could get out here. All the non perishables are gone, rifled through by the locals.

At the back of the store, the pharmacy is ransacked too, door broken down, glass smashed in, virtually everything pulled off the shelves. Jacob checks through everything that is left, reading labels carefully. A lot of it is stuff that is of little use when it comes to getting high; thyroid medication, antibiotics past their expiration date, topical creams. There are people who need this stuff, but clearly it wasn’t enticing to the punks who raided the place.

Jacob goes through all the drawers, comes up empty handed, then starts on the filled prescriptions, already with patients’ names printed clearly on the labels, hung up on the rack in the middle of the room.

Even when he finds what he’s looking for, Jacob doesn’t have the time or space to feel relief. He keeps on searching for more.

—

When Staci wakes, he’s alone. He doesn’t know if that’s a good thing. Expected, really, that Jacob would get the fuck out of Staci’s cell as soon as he was able, as soon as his head was back on straight and he wasn’t thinking with his knot.

Rolling onto his back, Staci winces slightly at the soreness in his lower back, and, yeah, his hole. He needs a shower. He needs ten fucking showers. But while he has a toilet and a basin in his cell, he doesn’t have a shower. Fuck.

He’s also currently in no position to get the fuck out of bed.

Looking towards the narrow window, Staci tries to judge the hour by the position of the sun. Best he can tell, it’s just now dawn. No way to tell how long Jacob has been gone.

The door handle rattles and Staci sits up faster than he should have, his head spinning slightly. He’s dehydrated, still a little loopy, stuff that’s normal after good sex with an alpha. Never happened with betas or other omegas, at least not to Staci.

Jacob slips back into the room, a strange lump hidden underneath his jacket, and a bottle of water in one hand. He tosses the bottle onto the bed then reaches into his coat.

He pulls out a small cardboard box with purple ink across the front. The lights aren’t on, so Staci can’t read the lettering from a distance, but he’s pretty sure he’s seen that box before. Emergency contraceptives.

Staci’s mouth goes dry. 

He can’t get pregnant. Or at least, the copper iud he has is functionally 100% effective. But Jacob doesn’t know that Staci can’t get pregnant, and Staci has to weigh how valuable that secret is.

“Take them, just the first two pills for now,” Jacob tosses Staci the box and Staci clumsily catches it between both his hands. There are at least two more boxes still stuffed into Jacob’s coat. In case this mistake happens again.

What if Staci says no? Tries to convince Jacob that he wants to get knocked up with his brat. But then what does he do when it becomes obvious he’s not pregnant? How long can he keep up a farce? Staci remembers someone back in college saying something once, like if you’re not suppressed, alphas can tell in like, the first two weeks if an omega is pregnant, and if the baby is theirs or not.

He settles on not telling Jacob about the iud, but also not trying to pull off a fake pregnancy on top of everything else.

Jacob watches closely as Staci pulls out the blister pack of pills from the box. He double checks the order he’s supposed to take them in before breaking the seal. Four doses over the next two days. Providing that Jacob isn’t watching him, he’ll try to flush them instead of taking them. The only side effect he’s ever heard of is some stomach cramping, so it’s not the worst thing to ever happen if Jacob keeps on hovering.

Staci knows well enough that popping contraceptives isn’t about to be in the cult’s grand scheme. If they’re not allowing suppressants because they interfere with divine will, shoveling down pills after the fact can’t be on the list of totally fine shit to do. He makes a mental note to hold onto the packaging even after the pills are finished.

Washing the dose down with water, Staci swallows thickly. He stares at the water bottle clutched in his hands. Saying the right thing here can make all the difference, “what if I wanted...nevermind.”

Jacob snickers, “you’re a terrible liar.”

Not as terrible as Jacob thinks. But at least now Staci has confirmation that he would have never gotten away with lying about a pregnancy.

Under his shirt, Jacob still has those two other boxes. In case this happens again. Because it’s going to happen again. Staci will take that as a win.

—

There’s not effective way to hide the smell. Jacob comes back from breakfast and Pratt still smells well-fucked by Jacob. He hurries Pratt to the showers when he knows they’ll otherwise be empty, even knowing that it’s futile. He’ll have to leave Pratt in his room a few days more until the scent dissipates. It doesn’t help that Jacob still has a frustrating desire to stay close to him.

He returns to Pratt’s room after lunch. Pratt is sitting on the floor with a food tray in front of him, already thoroughly picked over. Jacob stands with his back against the closed door and watches Pratt take the second of four doses. Another two tomorrow. But this doesn’t solve the underlying problem.

Pratt has to go.

Jacob should go inspect the F.A.N.G. Center outpost. The Deputy was seen rooting around the location immediately after his escape. Likely reconnaissance for an upcoming raid. The resistance already has control of the lumber mill, Jacob can’t afford to lose the Center.

That would mean leaving Pratt alone to finish out the course of contraceptives. Jacob doesn’t think Pratt is actually stupid enough to want to get pregnant. He had to have been lying when he showed hesitance about taking the pills. But Jacob can’t be entirely sure. With their scents mingled, he can’t properly read Pratt’s intentions. 

But what does it matter? If the end result is Pratt’s culling? Jacob decides that he’ll drive out to the F.A.N.G. Center in the morning. He’ll assign a lieutenant he trusts to take Pratt out into the woods and shoot him away from the hospital. If Joe asks, Jacob will tell him that Pratt outlived his usefulness. Whatever the consequences for Jacob’s disobedience, he’ll bear them. Better than keeping Pratt around.

—

In the morning, Jacob doesn’t leave. He goes to Pratt’s room, watches him swallow down the third set of pills, and tells him someone will bring him breakfast. 

Jacob tells himself he’ll leave soon.

A report arrives that one of the wolf beacons is down. Jacob will have to find an electrician to send to the site for repairs. The rest of the morning he spends radioing around to the outposts to find someone to look at the beacon. By the time he’s finished, it’s time for Pratt’s final dose.

“I’d rather you’d kill me,” Pratt groans as he swallows down the last set of pills, “than keep me caged in here.”

Jacob grits his teeth, “You still smell.”

“You smell too,” Pratt says what Jacob already knows, “why bother hiding?”

Jacob isn’t about to open up to Pratt, make himself more vulnerable than he is already. Pratt should shut his fucking face. And so should Jacob.

“Fine,” Jacob growls in frustration, “don’t come crying to me later, Peaches, when you face the consequences.”

—

The three days pass and they still smell of each other, as they walk through the halls of the hospital, Staci a step behind Jacob, clipboard in his hands. They pretend as if nothing has changed, and the peggies are too frightened of Jacob to say anything to his face. Staci wonders what they say out of earshot. If Joseph Seed knows already. If that’s good for Staci, or bad?

Jacob makes preparations to visit the F.A.N.G. Center, with no indication of whether or not Staci will accompany him. Staci assumes he’ll be left behind. There’s no reason for him to go.

Later in the week a second wolf beacon goes down out in the wilderness, and Jacob capriciously decides that investigating the site takes priority. 

Since they fucked, well, at least since Staci has been let out into the hospital again, Jacob has been chomping at the bit, quick to anger, unpredictable. His frustration is never directed at Staci though. Always at some unsuspecting Peggie that crosses Jacob’s path.

“You’re coming with me, Peaches,” Jacob tears the thin sheet off of Staci’s body when he doesn’t respond fast enough.

Staci’s only response is to get dressed, pulling on his pants and a clean shirt while Jacob watches. They skip breakfast, Jacob shoving a protein bar against Staci’s chest as they head outside. Staci eats it as Jacob drives. It’s getting colder, but Jacob keeps the windows down as always.

Driving is slow on the winding mountain roads. Jacob doesn’t get the truck much up above 30mph. The higher they climb, the more treacherous the drive, not just the elevation but the cold that comes with it freezing the pavement.

Takes them almost three hours to drive to the beacon location, a secluded clearing high up in the Whitetails. At the center stands what’s left of the beacon, some supply crates, a mangled metal tower, smashed in speakers. Looks like dynamite has literally been used to cause as much chaos as possible. 

Jacob curses under his breath, going to examine the wreckage more closely. Under no particular orders, Staci follows, a backpack with supplies slung over his shoulder. Jacob tries to scent the air, but whoever did this (Caleb, definitely Caleb) is long gone. Tracking him through the mountains will be difficult. If he was smart, Caleb would have used the stream trickling down the mountainside to try and throw Jacob off his scent.

Combing through the supply crates, Jacob starts pulling out what is still salvageable, ordering Staci to carry ammunition, body armor, and random tools back to the truck. Staci just dumps everything haphazardly in the truck bed. If Jacob isn’t happy, he can fix it himself.

After that, Jacob sets about trying to make repairs to the beacon. Staci brings him his toolkit from the truck, and two of the extra speakers they brought up from the hospital. Jacob sits quietly on the ground, starting to take the remains of the sound system apart, piece by piece.

There isn’t anything else for Staci to do but wait. Having been cooped up for so long has left him antsy. He starts to wander around the clearing, peering out into the woods beyond. Jacob gives him a suspicious glare, but says nothing before returning to his task.

Staci is mildly surprised that Jacob even knows what the fuck he’s doing. Then again, Staci doesn’t really know much about Jacob Seed at all. Every attempt he’s made at conversation has been rebuked. 

Staci paces until his feet hurt, then finally settles down in the grass. He lays down on his back to stare at the open sky, the sound of Jacob quietly working a steady, subtle pulse. 

After lunch, Staci walks again, this time breaching the tree line. Jacob doesn’t tell him to come back, and Staci wonders what happens if he runs. He’ll never make it back down the mountain on foot. But he might be able to kill himself before Jacob could stop him.

He makes it as far as the creek before he hears Jacob coming up behind him, his pace steady. 

“Couldn’t smell you anymore,” Jacob offers by way of explanation. “Stay where I can smell you.”

“You brought me out here to kill me,” Staci ventures. He knows that’s not true. Jacob would have sent him with someone else if that were the case. Jacob is incapable of killing Staci himself. Especially after they’ve fucked. The smell is supposed to make alphas all protective. Another week or so and it might wear off.

“I wish,” Jacob admits.

They head back to the clearing together.

It’s obvious enough from Jacob’s set-up that they won’t be done tonight. His tools are still strewn about. Only one of the speakers has been mounted into place. None of the floodlights have been changed. 

Jacob orders Staci to set up the tent and halfway through trying to figure out what stick goes into which hole Staci starts to laugh. This is so fucked up, but it feels like nesting. An impulse Staci has only ever read about. He doesn’t feel all warm and tingly or whatever. Or safe. Because he’s not capable of feeling safe with Jacob. But something about putting together the tent feels weirdly _theirs._

Staci builds a fire while he’s at it, just a small one to heat up the canned food stuffed in his backpack. He throws the whole cans into the center of the pit, watching carefully to dig them out with a wet branch before they explode.

After they eat, Jacob heads into the tent first. Staci can pinpoint when exactly he falls asleep. He doesn’t want to sleep next to Jacob. He doesn’t. Though he knows once he’s there, he’ll enjoy having a body pressed up next to his. Any body. Doesn’t matter that it’s Jacob. 

—

No, no, no, no, no.

Staci wakes in a sweat, his hands shaking, his head spinning. It’s only been six weeks since his heat. This can’t be happening again. But it feels the same, the clawing hunger for attention and affection. He sits up, bundling the sleeping bag around him. Despite the fever on his skin, the air is cold. Staci doesn’t know if he should just start fucking running while he can, put as much space between him and Jacob as possible.

“Pratt?” Jacob pushes himself up onto his elbow, blinking to try to adjust to the darkness of the tent. He breathes in noisily, then this time, deeper, with a lingering hesitance, “Pratt.”

“Fucking, fuck,” Staci buries his face in his hands, “this isn’t right.” He’s not certain, but he could have sworn heats were supposed to be sixteen to twenty-four weeks apart. Not fucking six. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he tries to keep from shrieking.

Jacob grabs his wrist, pulling him back down onto the ground. Quickly unzipping both their sleeping bags, Jacob shoves Staci around until he’s underneath him. He keeps most of his body weight off of Staci, but lets enough settle that his presence is undeniable.

Jacob smells different than he did during Staci’s last heat. He smells like he belongs to Staci.

Oh.

“I didn’t do anything,” Jacob hisses, pinning Staci’s arms down. One of the sleeping bags is draped over them, keeping out the chill. “I didn’t do anything,” his voice is softer this time.

Staci doesn’t want to cry. He really, really does not want to do that. If he can hold out, his emotions will level out. But it’s harder to deny that he wants Jacob this time. Not just anyone, but Jacob. Because he already knows what Jacob feels like. He knows how good Jacob’s cock can be.

“Fuck you,” Staci whispers, the fight starting to drain out of him as Jacob rocks slowly against him. The grip around Staci’s wrists starts to loosen.

“I thought I was being tested,” Jacob murmurs against Staci’s neck. 

Staci wants to scream at him. He’s not Jacob’s redemption. His test or his torturer or his salvation. Staci wasn’t given a fucking choice. And Jacob wants to fucking pretend that this has been difficult for him? Fuck. Him.

“Fuck you,” Staci repeats, tilting his head to offer Jacob his throat. The haze of heat rings through his blood.

It was easier, last time, to think of Jacob as nothing more than a cock attached to a warm body. Some _thing_ to satisfy Staci. But that anonymity was broken when they fucked for some reason other than incessant need. 

Staci’s breath hitches, because he knows this time, Jacob won’t deny himself. This time, Jacob will yield. “Fuck me,” Staci demands, wrapping his legs around Jacob’s hips and pulling.

Jacob’s mouth against his own is wet and rough, silently conceding, _yes._


	8. Chapter 8

Pratt is wet and pliable in the deepest disorientation of his heat. Beautiful, the way he arches his back, thrusts onto Jacob’s dick. Tight and hot and mewling for more. That voice so often sharp with panicked defiance, sometimes softened by inauthentic submission. But now, Pratt opens up to him, curling and warm and wanting. Begging more, more, more, as Jacob grabs him around the waist to spear him thoroughly on his cock.

Many mistakes are made, chief among them, taking Pratt face to face, his back against the sleeping bag and his thighs wrapped around Jacob’s hips. Pratt’s forehead is glossy with sweat, his hair sticking with static as it rubs against the bag. Lips parted and head thrown to the side, Staci shows his neck like a taunt, a challenge. 

Jacob is strong. He is.

It didn’t work for Miller, it won’t work for Staci.

The air in the tent smells like honeyed smoke, thick, safe. Safe, safe, safe. Repeating like a mantra in Jacob’s head as he thrusts, fingers curled tight enough on Staci’s hips that Jacob’s knuckles turn white and red rises to the surface of Staci’s copper skin.

Staci throws his arms around Jacob’s shoulders, his eyes still half-lidded in the darkness. He tries to claw his way up, unsatisfied to lay there like a “good” omega. Jacob almost curses the easy accessibility of pornography online for making every omega under thirty, heat-addled or not, think that they’ve got to climb on top. That they need to babble incessantly about how wet they are, how tight, screaming, “alpha, alpha,” until their throats are raw. But Pratt doesn’t do any of that. He growls, “move,” and shoves Jacob back until he can sit over Jacob’s cock with his legs thrown on either side.

“Pushy,” Jacob breathes against Pratt’s neck. Too close, too dangerous. 

“Like it better, like this,” Pratt’s speech slurs. With his arms still wrapped around Jacob’s shoulders, he uses those perfect thighs to lift his weight, before dropping himself hard enough to bruise Jacob in the morning.

“Mm,” Jacob hums, already perilously drunk on Pratt’s scent. “Why do you like it?” Keeping one hand on Pratt’s back to help him balance, Jacob lets the other drift down to where they’re joined. Pratt is so fucking wet that slick soaks Jacob’s lap, clinging to the tops of his thighs.

“You’re, hmph, ah,” Pratt slows his pace, trying to draw out what pleasure he can steal. 

Jacob hasn’t tried to touch Pratt’s cock. He doesn’t want this to end too soon. Oh he wants to knot Pratt again. Of course he does. It’s been hard not to think on it since the first time. How warm and soft, and that word again, safe, he felt, Pratt’s skin on his. Jacob wants it again. And again. Fuck.

“Tell me,” Jacob coaxes, dragging his wet fingers up along Pratt’s spine. “Tell me what I am?”

“Awful,” Pratt hisses, “you’re awful, and…” 

Jacob thrusts up, deeper than Pratt is expecting to take, earning a perfect little gasp.

“Big, you’re big,” Pratt admits.

Jacob laughs, low but tight in his chest. Heard it before, as a canned line and sincerely. He can’t be certain which is true of Pratt. Still, feeds his ego to hear it. “Could give it to you deeper?”

Pratt shakes his head, “Fucker, that’s what I’m trying to preve-“ Jacob hits inside him again, cutting off the insult Pratt’s sure to spew.

This time, Pratt’s pheromones flare. He’s close. Jacob can tell from the way he tightens around him too. Tense and unwilling to let go. Just a brush of Jacob’s fingertips against his cock is sure to bring him off. Jacob isn’t quite as close, but he can feel himself start to swell. 

He should pull out. 

He doesn’t know if the emergency contraceptives will work again so close to the last dose. Or if the drugs are still in Pratt’s system. Or anything, really. He’s never looked much into it. Didn’t have to. Before Eden’s Gate, he took his pharms like everyone else. Since then, he’s been in control. Though he was not mates with their parents, all of his children were discussed and planned for ahead of time.

Looking at Pratt now, cock-wrecked and still defiant in Jacob’s lap, he can’t help it. Jacob wants to see how perfect their child would be.

Reaching between their bodies, Jacob runs the pads of his fingers over Pratt’s cock, just enough pressure to make him spill onto Jacob’s stomach, convulse in his arms.

“Jacob,” his name will never sound like a prayer from Pratt’s mouth, but an accusation. A sin.

Jacob’s knot swells quickly once Pratt starts to contract around him, milking him so that they’ll tie. “Staci,” Jacob tastes the name so seldomly on his tongue. “Staci.”

Pratt tilts his head so their lips meet, dragging against one another as Jacob starts to spill inside. Biting at Jacob’s lips, Staci gasps between each nip, “alpha, alpha, alpha.” A name without a name, without the weight of “Jacob.” Something Pratt is allowed to want.

The sound of it rings clear in Jacob’s mind while the rest of him feels heavy, in a fog. Everything feels so slow. Like the Bliss, but without the panic the drugs instill in Jacob.

Jacob tastes blood in his mouth, not knowing how it got there.

—

“I fucking hate you, fuck,” Pratt’s face is wet against Jacob’s chest. “You should have killed me. I wish you had killed me.” He’s crying.

When Jacob tries to shift, he meets resistance. They’re still tied. He must have not slept for long. They’ve managed to roll onto their sides, but otherwise, they’re still uncomfortably bound face to face, Pratt burying his head tightly against Jacob’s body. He’s still in heat, his scent and temperature giving him away.

The sun has come up just enough to cast hazy light through the nylon of the tent. Enough that when Jacob looks down, he sees the top of Pratt’s head. 

“I wish you had killed me,” Pratt repeats, broken. Why is he so devastated now? When nothing else could break him?

The taste of copper is thin at the back of Jacob’s throat.

Oh.

Jacob lifts his head just enough to look at the exposed side of Pratt’s neck.

Fuck.

—

Staci listens mutely while Jacob paces back and forth, talking to himself.

The last few hours have been a daze. He remembers some things though. 

Like Jacob bonding him. His blunt teeth biting down so hard on Staci’s neck that he drew blood. He remembers the euphoric high that followed, the rush of endorphins that blocked out all the pain, that intensified the full-bred-claimed mess of emotions Staci had never felt before. 

He remembers the panic that came afterwards, waking up and realizing what Jacob had done. The dread and terror that the logical part of Staci’s brain has to deal with. That this man who starved him, tortured him for weeks until he smelled too much like a fucking baby-factory to put down like a dog, had just bonded them together.

He remembers being shoved back into the truck, but not the drive that followed. 

He remembers pulling at Jacob’s already ruined clothing until they fucked again on the narrow cot in the bomb shelter Jacob broke into. He remembers Jacob calling him beautiful, but not being knotted. Though, sitting on the side of the cot now, he can feel the phantom sensation of Jacob’s cock inside him, how he’s filled with Jacob’s come.

“I’ll come back, soon,” Jacob finally says, crouching down in front of Staci. He puts his hands on Staci’s cheeks, forcing their eyes to meet.

Staci realizes he’s crying again. But he doesn’t know why. The initial shock and anger have passed. In his moments of lucidity, he’s been trying to figure out his next move. Jacob Seed ruined him long before mating him. What’s one more transgression?

“I won’t let Joe find you,” Jacob promises. “I’ll figure this out. I’ll figure out how to keep you from him. And I’ll come back.” He threads his fingers through Staci’s hair and the sincerity in his eyes is so intense that Staci nearly chokes.

Staci wonders if what he feels now is a fraction of what Jacob has been struggling against this whole time. Because as much as he knows he should distrust every word past Jacob’s lips, he cannot help the sense of calm that washes over him. A tenuous pull inside of him that aches for Jacob, though he has yet to leave.

“Okay,” Staci manages, “Okay.” He pets Jacob’s bright hair lightly, still surprised at how soft it feels.

Jacob won’t apologize, he’s incapable, Staci is sure of it. But what he says next might be as close as he’ll ever come. “Do you still wish I had killed you?”

“No,” Staci exhales, surprised at its truth.

Staci’s heat has broken up enough, or Jacob’s impulse to protect him is strong enough that he manages to pull away. But not before brushing his calloused fingers gently against Staci’s stomach. Staci bites his tongue.

Staci can’t see the ladder up from the bedroom section of the shelter, but he can hear Jacob as he climbs. After the hatch is shut, Staci waits. Jacob broke the locking mechanism somehow in order for them to get into the shelter. Which means Staci should have an easy enough time getting out.

But after five minutes, Staci hears noise above. He gets out of bed and heads back towards the hatch. It’s too risky to try and open it, but he tries to make out what’s going on. It sounds like a truck’s engine, then it cuts. Silence for a minute then a heavy thud of something dropping directly on top of the hatch. 

Fuck.

There goes that idea.

— 

Four days pass, then five. The shelter is stocked with enough food and water for years to come. The plumbing still works as well. There’s a valve in the utility closet that will let Staci switch from using the outside tanks to the reserves in case of, you know, actual nuclear apocalypse. 

Six, seven, eight.

There’s at least a collection of blu-ray disks and a player attached to a small monitor in the “living room.” A bunch of magazines and books too. None of it is really to Staci’s tastes, but it’s far better than being locked up in his cell back at the hospital. He can cook his own meals and watch old Star Trek episodes on repeat to simulate human voices. There’s stuff for woodwork crafts too, and a book on technique. Whoever prepped the shelter thought ahead.

Nine, ten, twelve, fourteen.

Noise comes from up above.

Staci pulls on a shirt. Everything stocked in the shelter is slightly large on him. He heads to the ladder to wait for Jacob.

He’s missed him.

He has.

It takes more time for Jacob to remove whatever it was he dropped on top of the hatch than it took him to drop the shit there in the first place. The truck stays on for at least ten minutes, there’s a lot of rattling, and at least once he manages to drop the crap by accident. But eventually, the hatch opens.

It’s not Jacob.

“Caleb?”

At the top of the hatch Caleb jumps in surprise before staring down the hole and shouting, “Holy fucking shit, Staci?”

Staci doesn’t hesitate, scrabbling up the ladder to join the other deputy.


	9. Chapter 9

Jacob has two options.

The first: Get Staci Pratt out of the county. 

But there is no one Jacob trusts to transport him, without Joe finding out. Jacob driving him out himself will arouse too much suspicion.

This would also mean never seeing Staci again. Also unacceptable. Jacob tries to deny this truth, but he cannot any longer. This is his mistake, to have bonded Pratt. He can’t even remember making it. But it’s done. And even driving back to his bunker, knowing Pratt is safe in the bomb shelter, Jacob can’t pretend that he already aches to return.

The second: Gain Joe’s approval to take Pratt as his mate.

In theory, easy. Easy all along. Joe would smile brightly, pat his elder brother on the shoulder, comment that he is happy, so happy that Jacob has found who the Lord has intended for him.

(Jacob doesn’t believe for one moment that he and Staci Pratt are fated. Men who do what Jacob has done do not get to pretend).

Joe might be happy, but for other reasons. He already gleefully uses John’s vulnerability to ensure Jacob’s continued subservience. Jacob cannot let Pratt become another pawn for Joe to use against him.

But, then Pratt can be Saved.

Because, despite everything, Jacob is still terrified most of all that Joe is right. That this is the only way that they survive.

He has to find a third way. Pratt will be safe until Jacob comes up with another solution.

Driving back to his bunker, Jacob smokes through half a pack. The Faithful always talk, and Joe has many ears. Gossiping about Herald Jacob smelling like a chimney is better than one of them figuring out he’s bonded.

—

No one asks what became of Pratt. 

Jacob smokes consistently in his office in the days that follow. He proceeds to administer his territory as expected, just without the omega runt at his side. Whispers swirl that Deputy Pratt is dead. But no one can prove it. Joe will call and ask before too long. Jacob has to figure out what he’s going to tell Joe.

Four days pass before Joe calls. Jacob expects an indirect question about what became of sweet Deputy Pratt. The call is not what he expects.

Joe sounds of barely concealed rage, nearly blind with it. “John has been taken.”

“What?” Jacob nearly drops the radio, bobbling it between his hands as it falls but managing to catch it before it hits the floor. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“John has been taken from ranch. Early this morning. One of the Chosen saw him retire to bed at midnight. He was nowhere to be found at six.”

Jacob swallows thickly. The Deputy. No one else would have the skill or be so bold, “I will find him.”

“Do not act rashly, brother. It is what Deputy Nylander wants,” Joe cautions. “He has taken someone dear to us, and we will see John returned,” venom seeps through Joe’s words, his Wrath palpable. 

Jacob has no doubts of Joe’s sincerity.

“Come to the compound,” Joe instructs. “Dispatch the trackers you feel appropriate. We must find John first.”

“Alright,” Jacob concedes. Joe is right. The Deputy is trying to bait Joe and Jacob into acting rashly. They must find their opportunity. No doubt, Nylander got the idea to use an omega as bait to draw them out from Jacob. This is Jacob’s mistake, and he will correct it.

—

The bomb shelter was closer to the Valley than Staci realized. The last time he had a clear idea of where he was, it was the mountains. Caleb hurries Staci into his truck, asking him to wait a minute while he double checks the house for valuables.

“Take it nothing really interesting downstairs?” Caleb asks about the shelter.

“Canned food, magazines, every episode of Stargate ever.”

Caleb snickers, saying that he’ll pass. Staci can’t miss the way Caleb’s eyes drift to his neck. Reflexively, he tries to cover the bite mark with his hand.

“Sorry,” Caleb mumbles, heading off towards the cabin.

He’s gone no more than ten minutes before returning. His backpack looks a little heavier, but otherwise, it doesn’t look like he found much. Starting the car, Caleb remains quiet for the first mile. Before all this, he was a bit of a chatterbox. But Hope County has changed them all.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb sighs, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out sooner…”

Staci shakes his head, “I don’t blame you. I’m glad that you’re alive. That you’ve been giving the Seeds hell.”

Caleb worries his bottom lip between his teeth, biting back what he’s about to say. “We’ve all made mistakes.”

Staci corrects, “we’ve done what we needed to survive.”

“Yeah,” Caleb sighs heavily, his eyes never leaving the road. “It’s Jacob Seed’s bite, isn’t it?”

Staci nods before realizing that Caleb isn’t looking at him, “Yeah.”

“Do you need a doctor?” Caleb really is terribly sweet, not just ‘for an alpha,’ but as a whole person. 

“No, Caleb. I’m fine.”

Caleb laughs, “Good, because while I know some vets, haven’t found any doctors. Uh, though, I know a midwife if you, ah…”

“No,” Staci corrects, “not a problem.”

Caleb exhales loudly again, his hands gripped tight with nervous energy, his whole body nearly vibrating with it. “I need...I have a problem, oh god,” he laughs again. “How long were you down there, again?”

“Two weeks,” Staci answers. He’s pretty sure that Caleb didn’t ask before now.

“I uh,” again with the nervous laughter. “I guess I could say ‘you’ll see for yourself the trouble I got into’ but…” he’s biting his lip hard enough that Staci thinks he’s drawing blood. “John Seed is pregnant.”

Staci’s glad he’s not driving because he would have crashed the fucking car, “Fuck.” 

“I’ll give you three guesses wh-”

“I know where fucking babies come from, Caleb,” Staci doesn’t mean to sound so angry, “what the fuck did you do?”

“You’re the one who just said you knew how it worked!” Caleb responds.

Staci groans, burying his face in his hands.

“...Remember, when we saw each other in the field?”

They didn’t actually see each other. Just smelled. The strange, familiar yet foreign experience of knowing each other’s unmasked scents for the first time. Jacob trying to use Staci’s heat as bait for another alpha. For Caleb.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Okay,” Caleb tries to steady out his breathing, “A few days before that, John’s men got the jump on me, tranqed me and dragged me down to his bunker. I, uh,” he looks away from the road for a second to unbutton the top of his flannel and pull the white shirt underneath down enough that Staci can make out “WRATH” tattooed on his upper chest. “Gift from John. Only, apparently carving sins into people’s flesh really gets his motor going.”

Staci nearly chokes on his own spit, “So, you’re saying he...forcibly tattooed you and then you fucked him?”

“No,” Caleb squeaks, obviously embarrassed. But honestly, all of this is so horrific that they’re framing this in any way they have to in order to not lose their damn minds. “He did...take me back to his room. And there was,” Caleb takes his hand off the wheel for a second time and makes the universal signal for handjob. Groaning, Caleb tries to explain himself, “He just, he smells really fucking good, Staci. Like, you read about this shit and you think it’s so fucking ridiculous until it happens to you. But uh, afterwards he was so…” Caleb can’t find the words, “while he was sleeping I escaped. Then, a couple days later you were in that field.”

“Caleb….”

“Wait, I mean. Obviously it wasn’t then when he...we... But fuck, maybe a week before I got caught up in the Whitetails and got dragged to the hospital. I had this great plan right? John he, he still had Joey. And now I knew where he was keeping her and I thought I could get her in and out. You know, I just didn’t trim my beard for awhile,” he strokes his neatly trimmed beard now, “dressed the part, basically could just waltz back into the bunker. It was ridiculously easy. But John knew right away. I got too close to his room and he could smell me. And I could smell him and god, Staci. He was in heat. He was so sweet…”

“Joey?” Staci tries to get Caleb back on track, “is she okay?”

Caleb snaps back to attention, “yeah uh. After John and I...I had to leave him, again, but I promised to come back. I said a lot of stupid shit. It was like being in the Bliss. I don’t know if I meant any of the things I told him. I guess I did at the time.”

If Staci weren’t so profoundly disinterested in Caleb at the moment, he might feel a bit jealous that while Caleb was perfectly able to resist him in the field, a whiff of a John Seed in heat caused him to lose his goddamn mind. Then again, Staci is in no position to judge anyone at this point.

“I got Joey out while John was fucked out. You can go see her if you want? I figured I’d take you to the cabin first. But I’ve got an extra car there. You can drive down to Fall’s End and see her in the morning.”

Fuck, Staci hasn’t driven in what...five, six months? More? He knows how many days may have passed in between this event and that. But when he tries to add everything together he feels sick to his stomach.

Caleb’s confession continues “Once Joey and I were out of there, I didn’t plan on ever getting that close to John again. I just thought...I don’t know. I’m handy enough with a sniper rifle, but….maybe ten days ago, John came to _me_. Showed up at the cabin where I’d been sleeping in the hills. No one even knows about it. But John found me and...it’s so weird Staci. I knew from the time he got out of the car. And I knew the baby was mine.”

“Yeah,” Staci isn’t about to argue with him. They’ve all fucked up. But this situation is fucked up. And they’re all trying their best.

They drive in silence before Caleb asks, “Do you want to tell me?”

Staci touches his neck, “I didn’t ask. But maybe I did. He hurt me less when he wanted to fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Caleb stumbles, “Yeah I’m sorry.”

Eventually, Caleb just can’t help himself, “Does it feel different? You know, people always say being bonded feels different.”

Staci doesn’t have an answer for him, but Caleb obviously wants something, “You’re thinking about bonding John.”

Caleb squawks, “no,” but he’s a terrible liar. “I mean, if it will keep him loyal, maybe...I don’t…”

“I think I understand,” Staci sighs, rolling down his window. 

—

Caleb parks the truck between the cabin and the blue sedan closer to the shed. The lights are on inside, but otherwise, the property looks deserted. Vegetation is already starting to reclaim the driveway, vines crawl up the side of the cabin wall, though they’re already starting to die with the increasingly cold weather.

“Let me go in first,” Caleb sticks his arm out to the side to keep Staci from taking the lead.

Staci waits just outside as Caleb goes inside the cabin. Soft voices murmur to one another, but Staci can’t hear what they’re saying. Another minute passes before Caleb opens the door again.

“Okay, come inside.”

It’s better not to have expectations in situations like this. But there’s only so much self-control Staci can muster anymore. 

John sits calmly on the sofa, dressed in loose sweats and a tee that’s big enough to be Caleb’s. His beard neatly trimmed, hair soft and unstyled, he doesn’t resemble the man Staci saw after the crash much at all. It’s so strange to see his feet in socks, rather than shiny patent shoes.

“Deputy Pratt,” John’s whole body remains tense. Staci is an interloper here. Maybe an enemy still. Everything about this is disorienting. Staci can’t believe that he’s the one who’s free, and John the one akin to captive.

But John Seed wants to be here. Wants to be with Caleb. He came here of his own volition. He’s pregnant with Caleb’s child. Staci feels like he needs to fucking puke.

John’s eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring, “you smell like…”

“Your brother bit me,” Staci doesn’t soften the blow. Why should he? Who does he have to protect, other than himself?

John nods, “Jacob?” His voice unsure.

“Yeah, Jacob,” now it’s Staci’s turn to express confusion.

John’s shoulders relax just a touch, the tightness in his expression diminishing. Lacing his fingers together tightly, then releasing, he continues, “that’s...better.”

“Better how?” Staci can’t help but snap. His temper has been uneven since Caleb opened the shelter. Probably just readjusting to interacting with other people after two weeks locked down. Being able to express himself freely after six months of being locked up. 

“I shouldn’t say,” John’s posture recoils, but his eyes are still clear and bright. All the Seeds have those same eyes. Similar long, oval faces. The family resemblance is unmistakable, despite their coloring being different. 

Caleb moves to sit close to John on the couch, wrapping his arm around the backrest to settle over John’s shoulders. Once Caleb is in place, John shifts his weight to lean against Caleb, pressing his nose briefly into the crook of his arm.

“It’s okay, he can’t get you here,” Caleb soothes, “I won’t let him. I can’t promise much but...I won’t let him take you back.”

“You can’t promise that either,” John laughs. “But if he finds me, maybe it’s what I deserve.”

“Don’t say that,” Caleb counters quickly with an exasperation that tells Staci that they’ve had this conversation before.

When John says nothing, Caleb explains instead, “Father’s first vision was to kill his only child. He murdered a newborn.”

Staci doesn’t follow, “so John thinks that Joseph will kill his child? That doesn’t make sense. He hasn’t killed Jacob’s children.” Though they’ve never discussed the topic, Staci has seen the records that Jacob keeps, photographs in file folders. The oldest is seven, the youngest, three. Jacob keeps detailed records of every shipment of supplies intended directly for their care. After delivery, he radios their parents to make sure everything was received. He doesn’t father his children, but he provides for them.

“I don’t know,” John admits, “Jacob and I are...different. Father...he…”

“Hey,” Caleb looks up from his place on the couch, “Staci, could you give us a minute?”

Honestly, Staci is a little relieved to excuse himself. This isn’t information that he actually needs. The less he has to do with the Seeds now, the better.

Staci heads outside, the screen door on the cabin smashing loudly behind him. Wandering far isn’t the best idea, but he walks as far as the shed, opening the door and poking around at the tools stored inside.

Jacob.

He doesn’t mean to think about Jacob. He should do his best to forget. Forget what his hands feel like against Staci’s skin, the rough drag of his beard between his legs, his cock pushing in, but memories of sensation washes over Staci when he least expects it, clinging to the fine hairs on his arms, even after the initial bout has passed. It’s different than the shelter, where Staci was mostly content. He doesn’t know why this is different.

He also remembers the look of worry on Jacob’s face before he left, the promise to protect Staci, the brush of fingers against his stomach, babbling about not letting Joseph find him. Why would Staci be different than the other omegas Jacob has already had? He didn’t bond them, but that can’t be it. And John could just as easily lie about the father of his child. Right? Joseph wouldn’t know for certain that it’s Caleb’s right? And if Jacob can have children, why couldn’t John? Staci lived among the peggies for six months, and didn’t witness dynamic having any bearing on the roles the cultists were assigned. At least not anymore than any other group of people. It doesn’t make any sense.

When Staci hears footsteps outside, he grabs a hammer, holds it raised and tight in his fist until he smells Caleb approaching. His scent is saccharine now, has been since he pulled Staci from the shelter.

“Hey,” Caleb says, “sorry about that.”

“No, I mean, it’s fine. We’re all fucked up. It just...hard for me to sympathize.”

“I get it, I mean, I know, I think,” Caleb leans against the shack wall, crossing his arms over his chest, “Joey tried to make me promise to kill John. After everything he did to her. You must feel the same about Jacob. I feel like...I’m letting both of you down if I don’t.”

The shack is tiny, and Caleb is really standing too close. But Staci hops up to sit on the workbench, resting his hands on his thighs. The night is quiet and so are they. 

“I can’t speak for Joey,” Staci says, “She may have had it worse than me.”

“I don’t think it’s a competition, Staci.”

Staci shrugs, “I’d be lying if I said I knew exactly what I wanted.”

“That makes two of us,” Caleb smiles.

“I know you won’t kill John, though. You’re not a monster.” He shakes his head, “Jacob might be one, and even he couldn’t kill me, once he got it in his head…”

“I could do it,” Caleb counters quickly, sounding too much like a child who is convinced they can be trusted without a sitter. “I could kill him, but...John told me things, about his childhood. About how Joseph came back into his life, after being gone so long. It’s hard to piece together, but...I think Joseph uses John to control Jacob, to keep him in line. When he first got here, he was worried that Jacob would come looking for him. Not scared of him, but worried. Even now, he doesn’t want to let “Father” down. But he’s worried about Jacob being hurt.”

Staci laughs, bitter at the back of his throat, “We aren’t the Seed Family Guidance Counselors, Caleb.”

“No, but…” Caleb sighs with exasperation. “It doesn’t matter. We just have to break their hold on the county. Get out of here, get the National Guard.”

Staci nods, “Right, right.”

“We don’t have much time. John said something. Jacob already knows John has gone missing. We only have so much time before he figures out you’re gone too. When was he supposed to come back for you?”

“I don’t know? He didn’t say. Maybe once he left, it was easier for him not to come back.”

“Uh, no,” Caleb bites his lip, “I mean, you had just gone through heat, right? I can say from experience, it’s not easy leaving. And the feeling doesn’t just go away. John and I were separated for weeks. We’re not even bonded, but I thought about him, all the time. Even though I knew I shouldn’t.”

“So,” the wheels in Staci’s head turn, “Jacob will want to come to me.”

“Oh my god, is he stupid enough to fall for his own trap?”

“You’re stupid enough to have knocked up John Seed.”

Caleb winces, “Point taken.”

—

Staci sleeps on the couch. The living room is stuffy. They have to keep the windows closed. Trying to keep the scent contained is probably useless. But before retiring to the bedroom with John, Caleb meticulously checked every window.

The walls are thick, heavy logs, but Staci can still hear them in the other room. Soft, comforting words, gentle shifting of their bodies in bed together. He can hear them, but he can’t understand what they’re saying. It doesn’t matter, Staci gets the gist of it. He can practically hear Caleb wrapping his arms around John and holding him close, promising to protect.

Fuck. 

Staci covers his face with both his hands. He wants that. He wants Jacob to be soft and warm and _good_ to him. It’s the fucking bond and Staci knows it, but he can’t smother the coiling feeling in his gut. Jacob’s chest pressed tightly to his back, his big hands covering Staci’s chest and abdomen, or slowly, agonizingly bringing Staci off while he rocks his cock between Staci’s thighs.

Going down that road is pointless, though. Staci doesn’t really know Jacob Seed, even after all this time. But he knows enough to realize that Jacob is not that man. Staci isn’t the type to crave that kind of softness either. It’s the fucking bond playing on his emotions. That’s all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...with enough interest I could be persuaded to write a Caleb/John sex scene but idk how many people are actuall clamoring for that. I’d post it as a separate fic as to not mess up this continuity.


	10. Chapter 10

The transmission comes just after lunch. A radio response from one of Jacob’s trackers. Nylander has been quiet since John’s disappearance, difficult to catch sight of. He hasn’t been spotted in the major resistance outposts. There haven’t been attacks on Eden’s Gate. No one has died, no property destroyed. 

Jacob has already gone to Joe’s compound, discussed potential plans of action, and returned to the hospital. Without information, there is little either of them can do. Jacob fears the worst. John may already be dead. But why then would Nylander not make a move on John’s bunker in the aftermath? And Joe says he still feels John’s presence. Close, alive, but changed.

And now, finally, after ten days of waiting, Nylander has been spotted. The tracker gives Jacob the coordinates and he leans over to find the position on the map of the county spread out over his desk.

“Upon arrival at the property, he attached a rope to the hitch of his truck…” the tracker continues feeding Jacob information, “....gaining access to the underground shelter…” Jacob pinpoints the coordinates. No. No. No. “...departing approximately twenty-seven minutes after initial arrival with a second man.”

Jacob snatches up his radio, “Why did you wait so long to radio me?” Why wasn’t he informed right away?

“Herald,” the tracker stutters, “we were concerned about giving away our position. The Deputy has proven to be highly skittish. My partner is in pursuit of him now. She asked that I provide you with additional details and search the property. But you may radio her no-”

Jacob cuts the line, switching frequencies to the second tracker. She fumbles with her radio while driving, before coming over the air, “Herald?”

“There is a second man in the truck?” Jacob has to compose himself, he has to slow his heart rate down, he has to remember to breathe. But he already knows for certain it’s Pratt. He doesn’t need confirmation. He just needs the tracker to talk so he doesn’t have to.

“Affirmative. I’m keeping my distance, but he’s about to cross into the Valley now?” she seeks permission to continue. Joe has been trying to keep it quiet that John is missing. Sent out false reports that he is at the compound, receiving spiritual guidance directly from Father. As far as the Faithful are concerned, the territories are still strictly divided. The Valley is off-limits to Jacob’s operatives.

Jacob swallows, his mouth dry, “Stay in pursuit. I will arrange for your presence to be sanctioned. Do not approach the Deputy. But inform me when and where they arrive at their destination.”

“Yes, Herald,” she confirms.

Setting down his radio, Jacob tries in vain to keep from dropping to his knees. He presses one hand against the center of his chest, stars behind his eyes. This panic cannot overtake him. He has been strong these weeks, as to give Joe no clues as to where he was hiding Pratt. No matter how viciously the bond clawed at him, tearing at Jacob’s insides until he was sick with worry, forcing him to care for a man he knows next to nothing about. He did nothing to put Pratt into danger. And now, Nylander has ruined everything. 

The tracker, Isabel. She will recognize Pratt if she gets too close. She has seen him before at the compound, always at Jacob’s side. She may even suspect who he is already. But as long as she keeps her distance, she may not realize they are mated, perhaps thinking that Jacob locked Pratt away for another reason.

Jacob picks himself up, going for the filing cabinet tucked into the corner of the room. In the bottom shelf, lined with manilla folders, he keeps records of every Faithful assigned to him. Some have more complete files than others, depending on what they surrendered after accepting Joe’s Salvation.

He finds the file on Isabel, only really looking for her dynamic. Beta. Jacob’s hands shake, even though the news is good. Even if she is able to observe Pratt’s mating mark, she won’t be able to smell who it belongs to. Shutting the cabinet door with a crash, Jacob mentally runs through what he’ll need to take with him to hunt Nylander. 

Once he has word from Isabel that Nylander has stopped moving, Jacob will follow after. They can’t drive indefinitely. They will have to stop, to rest. To try and seek shelter. That will give Jacob the opportunity to gain on them. Humans are persistence hunters, but Jacob has to find a way to make up for the hours he has already lost, trusting that Isabel will keep his prey in her sights.

\--

Staci wakes in the early morning. Caleb stands in the living room, peering out the window.

“Someone is outside,” Caleb whispers, he moves his hand to let the gauzy curtain fall back into place. The cabin was abandoned in the warmer months, before it was time to put up the heavier insulated window dressings. 

Pushing himself to his feet, Staci moves to join Caleb at the window, then thinks better of it. “Ambush?”

“No,” Caleb sighs, “watching us. Tracking.”

“What do you want to do?” Staci is more than willing to defer to Caleb. He’s been the one facing Peggies head-on all this time. Figuring out what works without getting killed, escaping capture each time one of the Heralds manages to pin him down. Staci knows his shit too, but he’s not going to let his pride get the better of him here. 

“How many men is Jacob likely to bring with him?”

“We can’t be sure it’s Jacob….” Staci considers the possibilities. Would he tell Joseph right away that he’s tracked Caleb down? If John has been missing for two weeks, they must assume Caleb was involved. This could just as likely be a Peggie who reports directly to Joseph. “We also can’t be sure Jacob knows I’m here either. It’s only been, what, fourteen hours?”

“Fuck,” Caleb curses, heading to the kitchen and picking up his assault rifle from the countertop. He switches out the partial clip for a new one. “Uh, I have more weapons in the bedroom, come on.” He gestures for Staci to follow. 

John is still curled up in bed, the sheets thrown over the lump of his body. He starts to wake as Caleb opens the dresser to let Staci get a look at what options they have in terms of ordinance. Gravitating towards the pistol, Staci reaches for that first.

“Wouldn’t mind a rifle,” Staci muses, thinking about what he’s going to be comfortable with handling. The pistol is a given.

Over in the bed, John finally sits up, the blankets bunched around his waist and chest bare, covered in scrawls of ink and scars and scabs. It’s a wonder he has any skin left at all. His usual sticky-sweetness sours when he sees Staci, but just as soon reverts.

“I got one,” Caleb says, getting down on his belly next to the bed and using his ridiculously long arms to reach underneath and pull out a hunting rifle. “Not loaded, but should be ammo in bottom drawer.”

“Caleb, what’s going on?” John asks, his voice pinched. 

Staci starts loading the rifle while Caleb explains it’s “Nothing you need to worry about,” stroking the side of John’s bearded face.

“I obviously do,” John counters, keeping the sheets around his waist while getting out of bed. Staci focuses very intently on finishing up with the rifle while John changes into decent clothes. The smell gives away they fucked last night. Staci, mercifully, must have slept through it.

Giving in, Caleb admits, “Peggie outside, maybe more than one. Don’t know. Staci and I will take care of it,” he leans over to kiss the top of John’s head.

“I can help,” John insists. “I’m not infirm. And they won’t shoot me.”

Staci interjects, “they don’t know for certain that you’re here. They may have only tracked Caleb and I when we came in last night. What if one gets away, huh? Tells your brothers where you are? Besides, do you even know how to shoot?”

John recoils from Caleb’s touch, “Jake taught me. I’m good with a gun.” Staci can tell that while Jacob may have tried to train John at some point, he’s lying about being good.

“Staci is right, if they don’t already know you’re here, it’s better if you stay hidden.” Caleb opens the top of the dresser again, pulling out another pistol. Making sure it’s loaded, he hands it grip first to John, “in case they get past us.”

In case we die, Staci knows.

Probably melodramatic, for someone who has proven themselves as adept as Caleb.

There’s only one door in and out of the cabin, which means that their observer will definitely see them exit. What they don’t know is if the trackers know they’ve been found out. 

“Walk towards the truck, like we’re heading out,” Caleb suggests, opening the cabin door.

Caleb is careful to exit first, Staci following behind. Both have their rifles slung over their backs. Caleb keeps his hands inside his pockets, fiddling with his keys. It’s early still, the sun just starting to rise over the low, rolling valley hills. Caleb fakes a yawn and stretches, his flannel riding up to expose his stomach.

“Go ahead and get in the car,” Caleb says, “I gotta grab something from the shed.”

Staci nods, continuing on to the truck. From the passenger side, the tracker’s view of Staci is obstructed. He opens the door, waits, then closes it. Caleb should be out of line of sight once he reaches the shed. His footsteps are so quiet, that even Staci loses track of him quickly. So unlike the rambunctious rookie that Staci first met months ago.

A minute passes, then, two then three, before Caleb returns, a radio in his hand. “Just the one, I think. Took care of her, got in from behind, but,” he holds the radio out to Staci to take, “you know the frequency?”

Taking the radio from Caleb, Staci looks at the dial and confirms, “This is Jacob.”

“Cool, cool, cool,” Caleb mumbles. “Her body will attract predators. We should move it.”

“Are we staying?” Staci asks. Though, this may be as good a place as ever to make their last stand. He’d rather they have numbers, but they don’t know how long Jacob has known their location. He could be close.

“I don’t know,” Caleb bites his lip again. “I think...Jacob must know you’re here. The tracker got wind of me up in the mountains, when I found you. Is he likely to bring reinforcements?”

Staci thinks over what little he knows about Jacob Seed, his behavior leading up to the point of bonding him, the frantic worry that followed. “No,” Staci decides, “bringing people means Joseph would find out,” Staci taps his finger against his bondmark, “And Jacob is scared of Joseph, at least when it came to finding out that he was fucking me. He’ll come alone.”

“Okay, okay, cool,” Caleb starts, “I’m going to stay here. Alone. You are going to drive John to Rye and Son’s Aviation. The couple there, their names are Nick and Kim. They are going to be fucking mad as hell when you get there with John. But they will help you.”

“You can’t be thinking to face Jacob alone...Caleb, you’re good, but he’s going to fucking destroy you.”

“No,” Caleb bites, “he’s not. But if his fucking pregnant little brother and his mate are both here, there is no way I’m going to be able to talk to him. He’ll be in a fucking rage. So if any of us have any chance of walking out of this god forsaken county alive. I need both of you to be as far away as possible. Please,” Caleb pleads, “you have to take John and go.”

—

Jacob is still an hour’s drive from the cabin, when Isabel stops responding.

He’s already pushing the truck as fast as it’ll go, as he races through the Valley.

Jacob told no one where he was going, what he was doing. It won’t be long before Joe is informed that another Herald has gone missing. The only hope that Jacob has is that he gets enough of a lead on Joe, that he can find Pratt and keep on driving.

Maybe the End comes, and Jacob isn’t Saved. But unless he does something, John is forsaken too. What would be the point, sharing the world to come, the world Joe says he’ll be gifted from the Lord, with no one but an imposter sister and a brother who doesn’t need him?

Joe doesn’t need him. Even when Jacob took the lashes for him as a boy. Even when Jacob built him an army, capable of holding down the county. These aren’t things that Joe needs from Jacob.

But John, John needs him. And Joe has done nothing.

But Pratt, Pratt. Jacob doesn’t know what he needs. Probably not Jacob.

Jacob wants to be needed, though.

Jacob doesn’t see Miller’s face when he looks at Pratt. Nothing so trite. But there is something there, eating at him, devouring. The panic that set in as he and Miller walked together, too exhausted and malnourished to move any faster. The gnawing realization that if he didn’t act, Jacob would be the one to die.

They would sleep in shifts, Miller tucked in close for warmth as Jacob held tight to the single rifle they had salvaged. Night by night, Jacob taking longer shifts awake by choice, to let Miller rest. At first, Jacob didn’t understand. Until he did. He would die for Miller, if he didn’t kill him first. Before he was in too deep.

He’s in too deep now. With Staci Pratt.

Jacob isn’t that stupid boy anymore. He was supposed to be stronger than this.

He parks the truck down the hill from the cabin where Isabel last checked in. Rather than taking the narrow winding driveway up, Jacob cuts through the brush, staying low to the ground and making as little noise as possible.

It’s second nature now to dampen his scent, so that Nylander won’t be able to smell him approaching. 

With his binoculars, he scans the property from afar. A small, probably two-room cabin, Nylander’s truck, a shed not too far off from the main cabin. The curtains prevent Jacob from seeing inside the cabin, but they’re thin enough that he may be able to detect movement in shifting shadows.

Jacob waits for signs of life, some clue that will give away Nylander’s position. A sound or scent or something, so that Jacob isn’t running in blindly. He doesn’t have to wait long before the door of the cabin opens, Nylander stepping out onto the tiny porch. 

Sitting down on the shallow steps, Nylander has a bag of dried fruit in his hand, picking through and shoving bits into his mouth. He appears casual, unarmed. Which doesn’t make sense if he found Isabel.

Nylander reaches to his side, picking up a radio, hitting the call button. 

At his hip, the tiny light on Jacob’s radio comes on.

Fuck.

“I know you’re there,” Nylander says into the radio receiver, even though Jacob hasn’t picked up. “I want to talk, Jacob. I know you’re alone. And I want to talk.” He keeps the radio up for another minute, before shrugging and putting it back down.

Leaving the radio on the porch, Nylander stands up, dusts off the front of his jeans, and heads back inside.

Jacob is cautious as he approaches, not enough to change his visual significantly on the house, but enough that he can try and smell what’s going on inside, try and figure out if Staci is there. That’s when he catches the sweetness of Nylander’s odd scent, all the more cloying now as compared to when he came into the hospital a captive, weak. 

John.

Not here now, but with Caleb, recently. Sex, with Nylander, recently. Unmistakable.

He can’t pick up anything else in the vicinity. The mixture of Nylander and John is so strong as to blot everything else out.

Nylander comes back outside again, grabbing the radio up off the porch. “I mean it, Jacob. I want to talk.”

Like hell he does.

—

John fidgets the whole drive out to Rye and Sons. Fiddling with his seatbelt, playing with the radio, pulling at his own hair, picking at his beard. He grunts quietly to himself, breathes too loudly, swallows frequently.

“Caleb made me promise not to kill you,” Staci says, not knowing how else to make conversation. “I trust his judgement.”

John laughs, in that thin, panicked way that he and Caleb share. It’s difficult to believe that they didn’t actually know each other before all this. John may be a handful of years older than Caleb, but their manners mirror each other in such a strange, nebulous way that Staci can’t pin down.

“I’ll be judged according to my sins, Deputy Pratt. We all will be.”

Staci has little choice but to shrug the comment off and keep driving. Truth be told, he’s starting to panic as well. Caleb hasn’t checked in yet, which says nothing about anything, except he said he would radio if there was any word on Jacob. 

Upon arrival at Rye and Sons, Staci tells John to stay in the car until he warns the family. Staci doesn’t know much about Nick and Kim Rye, neither ever caused much trouble. The couple was seen in Fall’s End frequently enough. Staci has seen them in passing, he’s sure. 

A man, Nick for certain, opens the door. One hand at his hip, no doubt hovering over the handle of a revolver. His posture loosens up a little when he sees Staci, “I know you,” he comments, clearly trying to place Staci’s name to his face.

“Deputy Pratt,” Staci says, “Deputy Nylander sent me.”

“Right, right,” Nick moves aside to let Staci in, “he radioed to say you would be coming.”

For as much as Caleb talks, he seems to have left out the most important part, “Did he tell you why I was coming?”

Kim pops out from the bedroom, a bundled child against her chest. From the size, Staci doesn’t place the kid as any more than a few weeks old. “He sounded high as shit,” she says, without any humor or judgement. Just...factual for Caleb’s life now. Staci had been placing the blame for Caleb’s flightiness on John’s presence and his pheromones, and just didn’t question Caleb further.

“There’s someone else with me,” Staci says, before realizing he’s being just as frustratingly cryptic as Caleb probably was. “I have John Seed in the car. Deputy Nylander said that it would be best to keep him here.”

Covering his lower face with both hands, Nick sighs deeply, almost a groan. “That fucking boy…”

“Well,” Kim resigns herself, “might as well bring him inside. I take it Caleb isn’t so stupid...no wait, he is.” She smiles, passing the baby over to Nick, “except everything in this terrible world seems to go his way.”

Heading back out to the car, Staci retrieves John. They walk back to the house together. Staci scans the open runway, trying to see anything in the trees beyond. He was careful to make sure they weren’t followed, after the incident this morning. But that doesn’t mean that the Seeds don’t have eyes on a position as strategic as a purpose-built runway.

Kim has the baby again when they return, so that Nick can reach for his gun if he needs. Neither of them are relaxed exactly, but they don’t look so high strung as to say, shoot either John or Staci by mistake (or on purpose).

They’re both betas (Staci thinks, unless they still have access to their pharms) and even Staci can’t quite pinpoint what about John’s scent that gives away that he’s pregnant. Or if it’s something only Caleb would notice anyway. 

What the Ryes are sure to notice is the bite mark on Staci’s neck. It’s high enough that his shirt collar doesn’t cover it, and he hadn’t had the common sense to try and hide it.

Neither of them say anything about the mark. But then again, they didn’t know Staci well enough to be certain that he came into this mess unbonded. And even while on pharms, plenty of Alpha/Omega couples still choose to bond after a few years of marriage. Out of all the fucked up shit Staci has dropped on the Ryes this morning, the bite mark on his neck is nothing.

John spends the rest of the morning in silence, sitting on the couch and playing with his phone. The cell towers have all been scrambled, so none of them can get a signal out anymore. Staci figures John’s just playing a game or something else innocuous to keep from having to talk. 

Nick asks Staci to help him cook lunch. Staci plops his radio on the kitchen counter, close enough that he can grab it if Caleb calls. 

—

“Alright, let’s try it this way,” Nylander comes back outside in the early afternoon, bare chested and without shoes, but still in his jeans, slung low on his hips despite having his belt securely notched. ‘WRATH’ tattooed across his chest, but otherwise, he’s frustratingly unblemished. “You’re probably here because you figured out that I’ve found both John and Staci. So,” intertwining his fingers, Nylander stretches out and cracks his knuckles. “We can do this Alpha bullshit and you can fight me hand-to-hand for them?”

Jacob feels himself growling at the threat, bearing his teeth as his lips curl back. This is the line he has walked for Joe, since starting on the Path to salvation. Using his baser instincts when called upon, gifting his brother literal wolves to cull the herd. But Joe has always wanted Jacob to be a beast himself. To rip clean through that boundary. Tried to keep Jacob loyal but vicious. Jacob isn’t an idiot. He followed, he obeyed. 

But Joe doesn’t know he’s here. Joe who has always thought himself above his brothers. Superior.

Nylander doesn’t flinch as Jacob emerges from the trees. He throws down his rifle, then the pistol from his waist. Dropping the knife from his belt, Jacob stands truly unarmed. Not a doubt in his mind that he can take Caleb Nylander in a fight.

Smiling, Nylander steps down from the porch. Their heights are near-evenly matched, Nylander only a hair slighter in build. He’s young yet, might have thickened out, had he lived. But Jacob will end him, here and now.

It’s Jacob who makes the first move, getting low and putting his shoulder into Nylander’s hip. A fair fight is a fair fight, and Jacob plans on using every advantage he has over the younger Alpha.

On the way down Nylander twists his body, grabbing at Jacob’s back and directing their fall so they both land on their shoulders and hips, side by side in the dirt, rather than Nylander ending up on his back like Jacob expects. He’s equally quick rolling away to hop back to his feet. Before Jacob can stand, he delivers a sharp, swift kick to Jacob’s ribs.

The strike hurts, but not enough to break Jacob’s concentration. Now standing, he goes to grab Nylander around the neck, throwing him back against the side of the cabin. Nylander’s head hits the wall hard and he lets out a sharp screech. When his eyes open, they’re full of water. When he opens his mouth there’s blood.

Nylander spits the blood out, letting it dribble down the front of his chest. Raising his fist, Jacob readies to hit him square in the face, when Nylander uses the leverage at his back to lift his leg and knee Jacob sharply in the gut. When Jacob hitches in response, Nylander pulls his hand back and swings, catching Jacob in the jaw.

Jacob rushes him a second time, slamming his shoulder into Nylander’s chest and knocking them both back in the dirt. This time, he grabs Nylander by the hair, holding his head still so he can get a solid punch into his face. Nylander’s nose crunches on impact, blood streaming from his nostrils. But while Jacob is reading a second hit, Nylander wraps his legs around Jacob’s hips and swings his weight to roll Jacob onto his back.

The shock of it disorents Jacob long enough that Nylander lands two punches in quick succession. Jaw and eye. Reaching out, Jacob tries to claw at Nylander’s face in return, only to find his wrist trapped in Nylander’s grip. He can still see just well enough to catch the smile on Nylander’s face.

“I think we’re done here,” Nylander grins, stabbing Jacob in the arm with a concealed syringe in his other hand.


	11. Chapter 11

There are voices somewhere down below. Cheerful, bright tones. Jacob opens up his eyes only to realize they’re covered in a sort of gauzy fabric that lets the light through, but nothing else. Just shapes and shadows. Biting down on the gag in his mouth, he tests his bindings. Police-grade zip ties, if he had to guess. The more he struggles, the deeper they cut into his wrists.

He’s bound upright in a chair, though the chair itself isn’t exactly uncomfortable. Someone has put one of those horseshoe shaped pillows around his neck to support his head while he was knocked out. 

Where the fuck is Nylander?

Jacob considers screaming. Even if the gag will muffle what he’s yelling, he can at least get the attention of someone who will no doubt call on Nylander. He remembers being drugged, but nothing after. Not Bliss. At least, Jacob doesn’t think it Bliss. Bliss makes the nightmares worse, makes him paranoid, on edge. He’s told Joe all this, but Joe thinks the effects are temporary. Jacob just has to push through.

Second option, stay quiet and try and get loose. But he can’t see. He can’t move his arms or legs. Snapping or cutting the zip ties are going to be the only way out. If he could see, maybe he could figure out a way to break the ties. So his first step has to be the blindfold.

It’s undignified, but Jacob starts contorting his face, wrinkling his forehead, then his nose and mouth, then repeating. Trying to shift the cloth off his eyes. At least he’s certain that he’s alone in the room. He can’t smell anyone else close. 

The window is open, and he can faintly smell the two people speaking down on the street. A beta and an alpha, both women from their voices. He doesn’t recognize either of them. But it’s harder to tell with betas. Their scents are less distinct. Jacob thinks he’s probably on the second floor of a building. No way to tell if the people down below know he’s up here. But if Nylander stashed him here, he doubts the two will be Jacob’s allies.

He’s just about got one eye partially exposed when he smells him. Warm, smooth, _home._ Honeyed but not too sweet. Mixed in with the open air.

Staci Pratt. Staci Pratt is here.

Jacob’s stomach drops. It’s been over two weeks since he’s last seen his _mate,_ and catching scent of him now clanks harshly against his ribs. _Failure, failure, failure,_ this is why Joe won. He’s stronger. Better than Jacob could hope to be. 

Pratt speaks briefly with the two women, twirling something that sounds like metal keys clanking against each other. Jacob still can’t understand, their voices are too low. But he can make out two sets of feet walking away from the house noisily, and the door opening downstairs.

Pratt is the one who stays, rattling around on the first floor. Sounds of pots and pans being put away, dishes shelved. Is this Pratt’s house? No. It can’t be. Everything would smell of him if that were the case. Maybe Pratt is living here now. But it isn’t his home.

Minutes pass and Jacob realizes that Pratt is trying to avoid coming upstairs. Always busy, moving about, not settling down for a moment. He’s breathing heavily, his scent nervous, anxious. And despite the nature of their relationship outside of the mating bite, Jacob wants desperately to soothe his fears.

Even if he is undoubtedly the source.

Jacob keeps scrunching up his face until the cloth finally slips down around his nose. The room he’s being kept in is small. Really no more than an attic with sloped ceilings. The window to the outside is behind him, but turning his head he can see the blue sky overhead. With the position of the mountains as a reference, Jacob makes an educated guess that he’s in Fall’s End, or at least close. Certainly deep within the Valley. 

There’s nothing in the attic that can obviously be used to cut the ties. Breaking the chair entirely might be the better option. But Pratt is sure to hear him. Does he want Pratt to know? To come upstairs? Is Pratt the one who put him here? Unlikely. He’s not physically strong enough (or tall or broad) to handle Jacob by himself. Nylander must have brought him here, with Pratt as his jailer?

Jacob has to calm the fuck down. Assess the situation with a level head. But it’s near impossible to focus with Pratt’s giddy nervousness seeping through the house. Biting down on the gag, Jacob stops himself from screaming, from crying out.

And in sync, Pratt stills downstairs, unmoving for the first time since he entered the house.

Jacob half-expects him to come bursting through the attic door, breathing heavy, sweat on his brow and eyes wide. He thinks that Pratt should feel _something_ , knowing that Jacob is here. Or is Jacob just so weak that he’s the only one actually bound? Is Pratt well and truly free of him?

Pratt’s scent returns to nervous-scared as he goes back to the kitchen. He turns the tap on, filling a glass and drinking. So loud that Jacob can hear him swallow, followed by the crash of the glass shattering in the sink.

“Fuck!” Pratt screams, stomping towards the stairs. His footfall is heavy as he climbs.

Jacob has to decide what he’s doing here. And as Pratt bursts through the door, Jacob throws his weight as hard as he can, smashing himself and the chair onto the ground. It’s a cheap-made piece of shit, plastic pieces shattering on impact and giving Jacob enough room to tear his arms away. One of the zip ties snaps under pressure. As for his other bound wrist, the arm of the chair comes with him, broken away from the rest. 

Pratt’s mouth and eyes are wide at the scene in front of him. Startled, a little scared. But he doesn’t scream or back away, standing in defiance in front of Jacob, knowing full well that now he’s the one with the upper hand.

Jacob removes his gag. “Peaches,” he has no idea what the fuck to say.

“Get the fuck down, Jacob,” Pratt warns, his hand hovering over the grip on the pistol at his waist. He wears a scarf around his neck that hides the bond mark well.

Jacob laughs, trying to by buy time. He’s coming up empty on what to do. Under different circumstances, he would have no trouble overpowering someone Pratt’s size. Someone so small.

Breathing in deep, Jacob confirms what he already suspected from the time Pratt entered the house, he’s not pregnant. Jacob laughs again. He thinks it’s relief. But he’s not sure. Because deeper than that, he knows...he would have liked. Even now, Pratt is pretty with his dark hair tucked behind his ears, his brown eyes focused on Jacob’s every move. His lips part and he licks against the inside of his teeth.

“Is that really want you want, Pratt?” Jacob asks, finally pulling at the last scrap of the chair zip tied to his arm, twisting it to apply pressure to the plastic cord. It hurts like fuck as the tie snaps against his skin. He does his best not to flinch.

“Yes,” Pratt says, his voice quiet but strong, “Deputy Nylander wants to talk to you. But you wouldn’t fucking listen.”

Jacob doesn’t move, because he doesn’t doubt that Pratt has the balls to shoot him. He clearly doesn’t tell the pull of their bond as strongly as Jacob does. That gnawing discomfort that Jacob feels even now. “Then where is he?” Jacob asks.

Pratt runs his tongue along his teeth again, “he’ll be back, soon.”

“Is he an idiot?” Jacob asks, feeling the hysterics creep into his voice again. Any way he cuts this, he’s a cornered animal. “Leaving me alone with my bondmate as a guard? You’re not going to stop me, are you, Peaches?”

“I can,” Pratt says with confidence, “I will. You….you only call me,” he stops. “I don’t want you here. But Deputy Nylander thinks we can still salvage this god forsaken county.”

“And where does that leave you?” Jacob asks. “What do you think?”

“Shut up, Jacob,” Pratt hisses. 

It takes all of Jacob’s self control not to flinch as Pratt pulls his pistol from the holster. Expertly, Pratt turns the gun in his hand, holding onto the barrel and offering the grip to Jacob. 

“You won’t even take it from me,” Pratt challenges, taking two steps closer to Jacob. “You could, you know. Take the gun, kill me first. But you won’t. I know you won’t. You won’t even run. Because I won’t go with you, Jacob.”

He’s so close now, nearly tucked under Jacob’s chin, the gun pinned in between them, pressed to the thin cotton of Jacob’s shirt. Pratt’s voice is barely above a whisper when he takes the final step that puts their bodies into contact, chest to chest. Jacob dips his head just enough that his bearded chin touches the top of Pratt’s head.

“Listen to what Nylander has to say, Jacob.”

Not knowing how Pratt will react, Jacob wraps his arm around Pratt’s waist, coming around to settle his hand in the middle of Pratt’s back. When Pratt exhales, Jacob pulls him closer, keeping their bodies flush. The tension leaves Pratt’s shoulders, his arms. He swallows, then rests his head against Jacob’s chest. The pressure of the pistol between them a heavy reminder.

“Is John safe?” he asks.

Pratt hums against his chest, taking surprisingly well to being comforted, despite the animosity still simmering between them. The boil isn’t likely to die down just with a few soft touches. “Caleb won’t let anyone lay a finger on him. You don’t have to worry.”

Jacob lifts one hand to tangle through Pratt’s hair. Last time they saw one another, Pratt was still in the last tendrils of his heat. This is the first time they’ve managed to be...kind to one another, outside of the near-instinctual movements of their unexpected bonding.

Jacob lets himself wish, just for a moment, that meeting Staci Pratt had gone differently. But it’s pointless to dwell on things he cannot change. 

“You’re safe,” Jacob says without thinking. And Pratt laughs at him, sending vibrations across his chest. Jacob should be angry, but he’s not. “There’s no...nevermind,” this time he manages to catch himself before he says something stupid.

Pratt just lets it go. He tilts his head back into Jacob’s hand, looking up into Jacob’s eyes. “I still think Caleb is an asshole though,” his voice is distant, breathy. Jacob can feel the stirring of Pratt’s erection against his leg. Their contact finally affecting him. “But he’s honest, you should trust him to keep his word.”

Carefully, Jacob starts to peel back Pratt’s scarf. He wants to see it. Once the scarf falls away, floating towards the floor, Jacob presses his fingers against the bite, healed over now, but still clearly marking Pratt as mated.

Pratt hums again, coming up on his toes to press his lips to Jacob’s, slow and easy, drawn out as he coaxes Jacob’s mouth apart. Jacob sets out to match his pace, but can’t help but deepen the kiss, holding Pratt gently by his neck.

Jacob doesn’t tell Pratt to put the gun down, but Pratt sets the pistol aside himself. Letting go of Jacob, he steps towards the table against the wall to put the firearm safely down.

The loss of contact almost pains Jacob, who follows Pratt to the table, draping his body over Pratt’s back and shoving his hips against the edge of the table. “Like this?” Jacob puts his mouth against the shell of Pratt’s ear. When Pratt shivers deliciously in response, Jacob thrusts his hips against Pratt’s ass again. “Or do you want to ride me? You like that, don’t you, _Mate_?”

Pratt reaches back with one arm, arching his back and shoving his ass against Jacob’s growing need. He grabs onto the back of Jacob’s hair, pulling while exposing his own throat, giving Jacob an eyeful of _his_ mark.

“Do you want to knot me?” Pratt asks, grinding back again. Jacob goes dizzy with desire, ready to just bury himself inside Pratt and fucking live there forever. 

Jacob snakes his hand around to grip around the front of Pratt’s throat, careful not to choke him, “Yes,” he kisses against the mark, “I do.”

Pratt shudders in his arms, hands already pawing at his belt and opening the front of his own pants. “Take off your clothes,” Pratt insists.

Jacob doesn’t listen, instead just opening the front of his fatigues and shoving them down off his hips. He’s quick enough to catch Pratt before he can kick off his jeans, keeping them bunched up around his knees instead. Grabbing Pratt’s hips, Jacob shoves him back into place against the table, one arm wrapped around his waist to hold him in place, the other gripped to half his ass, carefully pulling him open.

Jacob tests how wet Pratt is with the head of his cock, running it down the cleft between Pratt’s legs and gently pushing the head in. Pratt lets out a little gasp in response, rocking forward against the table and into Jacob’s steadying arm.

He’s not quite ready enough for Jacob to push all the way in. Instead, Jacob rocks gently against him, keeping the head of his cock inside. Pressing kisses against Pratt’s neck, his stubbled jaw, Jacob coaxes him to open up, to let him inside. Pratt, for his part, thrusts shallowly back onto his cock, whispering it’s okay. He’s ready.

Pushing in with more force, Jacob finds Pratt slick enough to bottom out, their hips pressed tightly together. Pratt falls forward across the table, bracing himself on his elbows and sticking his ass out. Jacob shoves his arms up underneath Pratt’s flannel, smoothing over his shoulders, down his back. He keeps his thrusts even, deep, trying to make this good for Pratt. Trying to make him scream his name.

Curses fall from Pratt’s lips in a steady stream, pleasured sounds and lingering frustration. He doesn’t want to want this. Jacob can’t do a fucking thing to make this better. He just fucks into Pratt, again, and again, and tries to forget they hate each other. It’s easy, as sweat starts to collect on Pratt’s skin.

“Oh, god, fuck,” Pratt cries. “There,” he sobs, “right there.”

Jacob thrusts again, hard enough the table rattles, Pratt vibrating under him. Once Pratt begins to come, his hole tightens around Jacob’s cock, white-hot and wet, the perfect flesh of Pratt’s ass pressed tight against Jacob’s hips. Jacob grabs onto him, to keep him from thrashing too much as he starts to come, his knot expanding to fill out Pratt’s rim. 

Beneath him, Pratt shivers, hiding his face in the crook of his arm.

“You idiot,” Pratt bites, “we didn’t get undressed.” He yelps as Jacob hikes him up off the table. He’s bone tired, but they’ll both be uncomfortable if they have to wait for Jacob’s knot to go down spread out across the table.

Pratt is easy to maneuver in the afterglow. Jacob manages, despite their pants restricting their movements to a nearly comical degree, to sit down on the floor with his back against the wall and Pratt in his lap. The wood floor is uncomfortable, but at least Pratt doesn’t have to sit on it.

Having Pratt warm and pressed against Jacob’s chest calms some of the concern still rattling around inside of him. Pratt smells perfect now. Mated and satisfied and safe. And that warmth calms Jacob too.

Pratt leans back against Jacob’s shoulder, placing his hands over Jacob’s planted on his stomach.

“You smell fertile,” there’s never going to be a good time to talk about this. Maybe it’s none of Jacob’s fucking business, mate or not. He’s not expecting a happily ever after with Staci Pratt, that’s not in the cards for them, “but you’re not?”

“I have an iud. Didn’t want you to find out. Figured you thinking I could get pregnant worked in my favor.”

Pratt is probably right. It was a good decision not to tell Jacob the truth.

Cold air drifts in through the open window. Outside, a truck pulls up next to the house. Nylander. Still wearing John’s scent like armor.

—

Caleb calls up to the second floor, asking if everything is okay?

Staci calls down that he’s fine. They’ll be down in another ten minutes, at most.

Turns out to be more like fifteen before Jacob’s knot goes down. Staci would be embarrassed, but honestly, he’s fairly sure this is what Caleb expected to happen. Caleb can’t keep his fucking hands off John, and probably thinks this would somehow help them in dealing with Jacob.

He and Jacob don’t need to do much in terms of getting dressed. They didn’t really even take anything off. He grabs his scarf off the floor but doesn’t bother putting it on. He’s fairly certain Caleb is alone.

Staci holsters his pistol and gestures for Jacob to follow him downstairs. They find Caleb sprawled out on the Thompson's couch. The Thompson’s haven’t been seen in five months, so Staci figures this is really Caleb’s couch at this point.

“What’s up?” Caleb asks, smiling brightly, “ready to talk now?”

Jacob scowls, looking from Caleb to Staci and back again before sitting down on the lounge chair across from Caleb. Staci sits on the couch next to the other deputy, running his fingers through his hair trying to straighten it out.

“Okay, so,” Caleb claps his hands together.

Staci has been getting better at watching Caleb’s mannerisms, trying to figure out what’s his personality, what’s the Bliss, what’s Jacob’s training, what’s the coke. Kim and Nick said they don’t know where he gets it. Probably finding bags across the county as he scavenges for other things. He’s probably not an addict...probably. But the drugs help him stay awake, push through his exhaustion. At least, he thinks they do.

“Where is John?” Jacob asks, his face stern.

“Safe, close. Once we talk, you can go see him. I’m not intentionally keeping you apart, you know,” he bites his lip, “I’ve been trying to manage the situation.”

Staci decides it’s best to just keep quiet. His presence now is part of managing that situation. Trying to stay calm and trusting and safe so that Jacob won’t freak the fuck out. Both he and Caleb are grasping at straws here. They’re not particularly practiced in using their dynamics to get what they need out of other people. Shooting in the dark, really, seeing what hits or sticks.

“Listen...I know you’re worried about him,” Caleb says with utmost sincerity. “I know Joseph uses him as leverage to keep you in line. John told me how much you care. And...I’ve read things Joseph has written. But I promise you. I will protect John, I won’t let Joseph get to him.”

Jacob scoffs, “why haven’t you killed me then? You have what you need. John is already the bargaining chip you need.”

Caleb shakes his head, “You’re people. Both you and John are people. Not….negotiation aides. The fuck. I’m trying to find a solution here that results in the lowest body count.”

“And what is that solution, Deputy Nylander?”

“Will Joseph listen, at all? I’m guessing no. But I’m guessing that you will. There’s some prophecy right? That I fulfill? Because of Sheriff Whitehorse? Fuck if I know or care. But your brother is expecting me to kill you and John. And I’m not getting into the habit of giving him what he wants. So,” Caleb sighs, “you can help me draw him out. Or I can invest in a better chair to tie you down.”

Jacob snickers, “what’s to keep me from turning coat, culling every last one of you once you put a gun into my hands?”

Predictably, Caleb thumbs over in Staci’s direction, “would probably make him sad.”

Jacob flinches, showing his teeth and trying to get Caleb to back down. At this point, Staci can only find his threat comical. Everything is fucking hilarious after having been terrified for so long.

“We’re on opposite sides of this war, Nylander. And it would serve you well to remember that.”

“So, you’d choose Joseph over John? That’s your final answer?”

Jacob frowns, his bright eyes narrowing, “God is the only arbitrator.”

Caleb smiles, leaning forward, with his elbows pressed to his knees, “You don’t believe that, Jacob Seed. I know you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t give a damn about your sins. And I know you do.” Caleb’s shirt falls open, R A T visible where his collar parts.

“I’m not agreeing to anything, before I see John.”

Leaning back, Caleb shrugs, “Fine by me. I just wanted you to consider my proposal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey check out part 2 of this series for the first of a planned 3 John/Caleb scenes. I told myself they were just going to be pwp bullshit but ended up sneaking in some world building whoops


	12. Chapter 12

Pratt rides in the back of the truck, letting Jacob sit in the passenger side next to Nylander. He shows no hesitation in opening the rear half-door and climbing in. Maybe from a lifetime of being shorter than those around him. It’s only polite to let taller passengers ride in front.

Along the road, Jacob thinks of how easy it would be to kill Nylander now, with his mind focused on driving. Jacob could grab the wheel from him, crash the car into the wooden fence separating the road from the open field. That would give him enough time to climb over on top of Nylander, choke him to death with his hands. Jacob’s eyes flit up to the rearview mirror, making sure Pratt is wearing his seatbelt. With the lazy speed Nylander is driving, Pratt is sure to be fine.

He could _take_ Pratt by force, once he’s killed Nylander. As much as he’s not capable of hurting Pratt, he thinks he’ll be able to steal away with him. Bind him with the zip ties Jacob knows are in Nylander’s pockets, keep him in the back of the truck until he finds John. And then…

And then what?

Jacob doesn’t know.

Doesn’t know. Doesn’t know. Doesn’t know.

But he does.

Jacob knows if he doesn’t find another solution, the beast, the monster that lives inside him will lash out. 

“Jacob,” Pratt says from the back seat, calm and reassuring. Just his name, nothing more.

In the end, he’s too wracked with indecision to do anything. Nylander pulls up to a well-kept farmhouse, the barn in the distance locked up tight. Cutting the engine, he tells Jacob they’ve arrived. He’s kept his word. John’s in the house. Jacob can go ahead and talk to his brother without them.

Pratt hangs by the truck, waiting behind with Nylander. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the cab. Both remain silent, giving nothing more away.

This could be another trap, like Nylander’s ‘fair fight’ that left Jacob drugged. But why lure him out here to kill him? When they just as soon could have killed him in Fall’s End, a sacrifice in front of an exuberant crowd of resistance onlookers. Jacob has no doubts that the residents would be pleased with his blood on the pavement. Cheering at his bloody demise.

“Knock,” Nylander shouts encouragingly, “I’m sure he’ll let you in!”

Jacob walks up to the porch, pounding on the door and waiting. He hears movement behind the walls, then the sticky-sweet smell of John mixed in with Nylander. His nose betrays him, though. It’s...different than last time. Of course, last time, John and Nylander hadn’t fucked, come close, but John promised him that Nylander didn’t come in him. From Nylander’s scent now, Jacob is certain that threshold has been crossed. But it’s still different than what Jacob expects, different how? Are they mated? Nylander doesn’t smell like he is...

John throws open the door, only to throw his arms around Jacob’s shoulders, coming up on his toes to reach. He’s dressed largely as Jacob has come to expect from his younger brother, though the clothes clearly aren’t his. The dress pants a little looser, the button up shirt is too. Stolen clothing that almost suits his tastes but are tailored for someone slightly broader.

To be sure, Jacob tilts his head to look down John’s collar. His neck is clean, the curl of one of his old tattoos visible just below where a mating bite would be. 

“Jake,” John says his name with such elation, Jacob doesn’t know how to respond. Cautiously wrapping his arms around John’s back. 

Pulling back a bit, John smiles at him, then laughs, touching at Jacob’s sideburns. He looks rosy-cheeked and happy, though there is still some anxiety curling underneath. None of them ever really let go of their fears. That’s how you end up dead in Hope County. That’s how Joe keeps them in line.

“He hasn’t hurt you?” Jacob asks, keeping his arms around John. Being close to him now is such a relief. Knowing that at least he’s alive. 

John breaks into a wicked smile, “Only when I ask…”

Jacob groans. Under different circumstances, he’d consider the response typical for John. Maybe John really is okay. 

Looking back towards the driveway, John confirms that his Nylander and Pratt are still hanging out by the truck. Seemingly engrossed in conversation with each other, they don’t pay John and Jacob any mind.

“We could get out of here,” Jacob says, his voice pinched, “I can kill them both, and we can escape. I promise you, Johnny, I’ll do better this time. I won’t let anyone hurt you again. I promise.”

John laughs at him, his eyes as sharp as ever. Kindness, real kindness, was beaten out of him long ago. There are remnants there of something similar, softness, submission, a willingness to plead that can bloom into something that looks like compassion. But it’s not real. John doesn’t understand kindness, and can’t show any in return. And that’s Jacob’s fault.

He wonders if Nylander is the same. Or if he’s a closer approximation to who John Seed could have been. If Jacob just took their father’s beatings, if he kept his head down. If he hadn’t taken the light to gasoline. If he hadn’t gone to prison. The military, the bottle. If he had been a good enough man to make sure no one ever laid a hand on John. 

If he hadn’t put a knife to Miller’s throat, just as the burst of his sweet scent leaked through the layers of dirt and grime and desperation. 

If Jacob had ever been strong enough to protect the weak, instead of killing them off, wrecking them one by one. Two by two, three by three...onwards...onwards….

“Jacob,” John’s voice brings him back. “I’m not leaving Caleb. I can’t. Father will find me. And...I know what he did to Faith. I won’t let it happen to me.”

“Faith?” Jacob asks. Joe has done a lot of things to Faith. Some of them for her own Salvation. Other things, for reasons nowhere near as kind. He’s not sure what John means.

John bites his lip. He does look like Nylander, “not her, the one before.”

That’s when Jacob finally puts the pieces together. Why John smells different than he should.

“You’re pregnant.”

John can still smile like the sun.

\--

“Should we check on them?” Staci asks, nodding towards the house. After about eight minutes on the porch, John and Jacob moved inside. They’ve been alone for about twenty minutes now. For all Staci and Caleb know, they’re plotting the demise of the resistance. Got the both of them duped.

Caleb shrugs, playing with his pocket knife. It’s too tiny to be really useful for survival. But fidgeting with it at least gives him something to do with his hands. “They’re fine...I think.” The curtains are down and neither of them can see inside the house. And at least there isn’t screaming, “Do you think Jacob would hurt John? I mean if he’s still loyal to Joseph?”

Staci rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, running through scenarios, trying to find which piece of Jacob’s personality has the best fit. If he had known it would come to this, maybe he would have spent more time trying to observe Jacob with a more practiced eye, trying to separate himself from the desperation of his own personal situation. But he was running on survival mode, only picking up on what was going to help him directly in the moment. 

“Do you think John would let Jacob hurt him?” Staci asks as a follow-up. There haven’t been any signs of struggle from inside the house.

Caleb’s breathing hitches, shoulders tightening. For a second, Staci thinks he’s really starting to get the hang of this scent thing. Because Caleb smells fucking terrified. “Yeah,” Caleb admits, “absolutely. Especially if he thinks it’s by ‘Father’s’ will.”

“Then why would he even run away?” Staci questions, “why not just accept his fate?”

Laughing, Caleb goes back to chewing on his lip, “Because he’s human? He got scared? He doesn’t want to die? He loves his brothers and he hates them at the same time? I don’t know. He could tell me, and I still wouldn’t know. Fuck,” he shakes his head, “what I do know is that Joseph Seed has his claws in fucking everything and everyone.”

Staci can at least agree to that.

\--

There’s a knock at the front door. 

Jacob doesn’t want to move. John has fallen asleep, draped across his lap, his head midway up Jacob’s abdomen and long legs spread on the cushions, Jacob’s back against the armrest of the couch. They’re too old to be so affectionate. But John was still so small when Jacob left. They’ve known each other more years now as adults than they ever did as children. Jacob was nearly grown anyway, by the time John was born. He runs his fingers through John’s hair, stiff and sticky with the product he likes to use. 

The scent tells Jacob without a doubt that it’s Pratt and Nylander at the door. Knocking as if Jacob has the ability to refuse them. Still, he calls out, “Come in,” assuming one of them has the key for the house.

Nylander opens the door, but lets Pratt walk in first. Pratt glances at them on the couch, but says nothing about it, heading for the kitchen instead. It’s already dark outside. Winter’s nearly here. 

“Am I supposed to get territorial?” Nylander asks, no trace of malice in his voice. “I dunno how this is supposed to go.”

He flops down on the armchair across from Jacob, spreading his long, uncoordinated limbs. 

“You act like I know any better than you,” Jacob sighs, pulling his hand out of John’s hair. “We didn’t….we grew up like everyone else. At least, Joe and I did. You have to be inhibited in the service. Then the VA had me on pharms up until I left Rome with John and Joe.”

“That’s still longer than the rest of us,” Caleb corrects. 

If Jacob is honest with himself (he’d never be so fucking honest with Caleb Nylander), he would have never fucking gone off his pharms. Those weeks in the desert showed him a side of himself he despised. A side that Joe sought to keep in the light. 

“Just practice. Longer you’re off, the better you’ll get.”

“Yeah well, I fucking hope to God it’s not that much longer,” Nylander grabs his arm with his opposite hand sinking his nails into his own flesh. 

Jacob’s eyes narrow, looking down at John’s sleeping face in his lap. If not for his facial hair, John still looks so young. He is young, in the scheme of things. Nylander is even younger. Pratt is young too.

Suddenly, he feels so fucking old.

“What are you going to do, if you win?” Jacob asks. He means, _what becomes of John_?

“Um, what I can,” Nylander chews his lip, “I don’t know...how any of this comes out ‘normal,’ you know? Fuck. I figure, you know already, right? That John and I...we….”

“He’s having a child.”

“Yeah,” Nylander corrects, “ _we_ are. But I don’t know, in terms of criminal charges, how that shakes out.” He laughs, “John might be able to answer that question better than I can. Fuck.”

Fuck, indeed.

\--

Staci is shit at cooking but he throws together something passable in the kitchen. Well, warmed beans and spices from the rack and boiled pasta. The whole thing at least smells edible and is made of shit that doesn’t spoil easily. Once he’s done, he calls out to the living room, expecting the others to feed themselves as he scoops out a bowl. 

He’s seated on the sofa, halfway through his decisively mediocre meal, when Caleb sits next to him. John and Jacob take their places at the table at the other end of the room. The whole scene is so bizarre, but Staci doesn’t really have expectations about how this is supposed to work. It was hard enough getting used to the idea of John, who Staci doesn’t know that much about. Even weirder to have Jacob here, tense and awkward, but without acknowledging the depth of the horrors Staci actually endured under his tyranny. 

Not like he expects an apology. Or even needs one. Or wants it. 

Caleb sits close, their legs brushing against each other, every time either one of them move. It takes Staci a second to catch on that he’s put himself between Staci and Jacob, some sort of defensive move. Maybe because Jacob is likely to snap if Caleb gets too close to John. Maybe just because Caleb is sincerely worried now about the tinderbox they’re in. 

Finished with his meal, Jacob asks if Caleb has any cigarettes? He wants to go outside and smoke. 

Caleb says he doesn’t, but “there might be some in the barn? Not sure.” 

Grabbing Jacob’s bowl, Caleb says to wait a second, they can check together. Jacob ends up standing awkwardly by the door, waiting for Caleb to come back from the kitchen. Before they step out, Caleb says to leave the dishes in the sink, he’ll wash them when they get back.

Left alone with John, Staci just sort of finds ways to amuse himself, leafing through a magazine left on the coffee table. One about fishing. Staci doesn’t really give a damn about it. John goes back to playing with his phone. Caleb found a charger for him somewhere.

“We don’t have that much time,” John sighs, dropping his phone onto the table with a thud. “Another few days, and Father will catch on that Jake is gone too. He’ll...do something drastic. I think.”

“Good,” Staci says, not thinking about what he’s saying. “We can’t go on like this. None of us can.”

John frowns, going back to his phone with no reception.

\--

The farmhouse has two bedrooms, the master suite and one for a child. Jacob says he’ll sleep on the couch. Staci doesn’t try and discourage him. For a moment, Staci entertains the very real possibility that Jacob will kill them in their sleep. Well...maybe just Caleb. But he quickly dismisses the idea. If this was about to end in bloodshed, it would have already. The only possible explanation is that Jacob is taking Caleb’s offer of an alliance seriously.

The bed in the child’s bedroom is a twin. Not exactly roomy, but big enough for Staci. It’s warm and safe, and far enough from the master bedroom that Staci doesn’t have to suffer listening to Caleb and John again. He can still smell Jacob in the living room, and despite how much he hates it, that fact alone is comforting. 

He’s already drifting off when he hears knocking about in the living room, Jacob getting back up off the couch. Here it is, this is when he axe murders Caleb in his bed. Making John watch or something like that. Jesus fuck. 

Staci figures he can’t do nothing, taking his pistol off the end table and quietly creeping back into the living room. All the lights are still off, but Jacob’s pale skin practically glows in the dim light seeping in through the curtains. Caleb left the light over the driveway on. 

Jacob doesn’t move from his place at the window, though he must realize how close Staci really is. When Staci takes another step towards him, he grimaces, but doesn’t look towards him.

“I have to go back,” Jacob says, “I have to take John with me.” He’s bare-chested at the window, the tapestry of his burns and scars and sins etched across his skin.

“You don’t,” Staci says. Caleb doesn’t want to kill anymore. And despite what Staci feels, he’s going to help Caleb see this war to its end. “You don’t have to, Jacob.” This is how he plays his part. On the surface, this role is little different than his performance at the hospital. But the key departure, is now he says his lines by choice. “You don’t have to and you know it.”

“What waits for us, if Nylander succeeds?” Jacob scoffs, “John will go to prison, Joe and me will have it worse. Figure, we’ll be dead. U.S. Marshals might fucking shoot us on sight, without a trial. Who would blame them? If not them, special ops, CIA in prison? We’re not making it out alive.” He grips hard to the window frame, “But if we go back….then maybe Nylander dies instead.”

“And me,” Staci reminds him.

Jacob nods, “And you.”

“If I kill you now,” Staci reasons, “John stays here.”

“Yeah,” Jacob nods again, “You think you can do it then?” Turning from the window, Jacob takes three steps towards Staci. 

Startled, Staci raises his pistol, widens his stance, muscle memory kicking in. Before this war, he never shot to kill. Only firing off warning rounds, twice, both up and into the air. But he’s had to hold his ground before. 

Jacob doesn’t stop, coming closer until the barrel of Staci’s gun pokes his sternum, he wraps his hand around it, but doesn’t try to pull the gun away. Just stares down at Staci, his expression unreadable.

They have to stop meeting like this. 

“Do it then, Peaches.”

This time, Staci doesn’t back down.

“You only call me that, when you’re afraid of me.”

“Yeah?” Jacob’s brow quirks in response.

“Did you call Miller “Peaches” too?”

This is it, the card that Staci has held closest to his chest. Just a rumor about a rumor, really. But Staci has seen enough of Jacob’s personal notes, heard him mumble enough in his sleep, that all he needed was the last piece of the puzzle, to fit everything together. Really, he knows less than he lets on. Jacob’s expression now tells him that he’s right. 

He knows that Jacob killed Miller, after weeks in the desert, abandoned and pursued. He knows that Miller became “meat,” he knows that before that, he was “sweet.” That should have been information enough, but watching Jacob now, in the hazy gauze of night, wanting himself _dead_ rather than put John or Staci at risk, Staci knows he’s right. That he can use this to wound Jacob Seed beyond repair.

“Fuck you,” Jacob whispers, furious, his hand tightening on the pistol. Staci could believe that Jacob can crush the metal in his fist.

Staci grits his teeth, he has to do this, push through his own hesitation. He won’t get another chance like this. He’s doing it for Hope County, for Caleb, for everyone the Seeds have fucked over to this point. Staci has to be brave. Be strong.

“Joseph will kill John and Caleb’s baby if you take him back. You know this. Why? Why would he do it?”

“The prophecy,” Jacob starts, pauses, continues, “there have to be four. Four Seeds. John’s child would make five.”

Staci points out the obvious, “You have _three_ children, Jacob. Joseph has never cared.”

“They’re not called Seed. It’s not about blood. Faith has our name but not our blood. She’s not even the first ‘Faith Seed,’” Jacob’s grip around the barrel of the gun loosens and Staci drops it from Jacob’s chest. “Joseph killed her when she became pregnant. Replaced her with another girl...Joe he...he killed his own daughter to keep the numbers right, that’s what started this. The voice told him his daughter had to die. Took the first Faith when he was certain our mother died.”

This is the most ludicrous fucking thing. But Joseph Seed is a psychopath. Logic clearly isn’t his strong suit. “So just, fucking call the baby ‘Nylander,’ problem solved. That worked for your children.” 

“You asked why. I told you,” Jacob bites.

Staci has one last question. Well, really he has a hundred questions more. But he doesn’t have to have all the answers, “Do you believe Joseph talks to God?”

Jacob tilts his head, looking up at the ceiling like the white expanse is the most interesting thing he’s ever laid eyes on, “I don’t know.”

“Fine,” Staci turns, ready to head back to the bedroom. He’s content enough now that Jacob is too fucking in his own head to stab Caleb in his sleep. Joseph Seed and his batshit prophesies are now a problem for the morning.

“There is no forgiveness, for what I’ve done,” Jacob says, before Staci can close the door.

Staci snickers, “No, there’s not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i think I have this mostly written now, and it clocks in at about 46,000 words total. Which is...much longer than I expected for this dumb idea. Anyway.


	13. Chapter 13

In the morning, Nylander meets Jacob out by the barn. Jacob doesn’t smoke in the house. Not in front of John. He offers Nylander a cigarette as he approaches, the Deputy taking the stick from between Jacob’s scarred fingers.

“I’m going to Joseph’s compound,” he takes a drag, “Staci, Deputy Hudson, and the Sheriff are coming with me.” Inhaling smoke, he waits for Jacob to respond, blowing back out through his nose. Jacob, for his part keeps quiet, giving Nylander enough rope to hang himself. Shrugging, Nylander continues, “your choice, if you come or not. But if you stay. I’m gonna tie you up in the barn. Just till I’m done.”

“What about John?”

Nylander rolls his eyes, “I’m not taking my…I’m not taking John anywhere he could remotely get hurt. He’s staying in the farmhouse.”

“Tied down?”

“Nah,” Nylander laughs, “he came to me, Jacob. I’m not worried about him running off and telling on me to Joseph. Just gotta worry about you, if you’re still not on board.” Today, his flannel is buttoned up all the way, the tattoo John gave him well out of sight.

Jacob wants to weigh his options, but at his point, his scales are fucking broken, “you won’t get in to Joe’s compound. There’s still the Herald in the Henbane. You don’t have Faith.”

“I’m not playing Joseph’s little prophecy game here,” Nylander reminds him, “I’m not bending to a bullshit. I’m not killing any of you. I’m not worried about Heralds or fire or brimstone or destiny. I don’t give a fuck.” Sighing, Nylander puts out the remnants of his cigarette against the side of the barn. “So, what’s your choice?”

If Jacob lets Nylander do this, he’ll turn up dead. Faith will cloud him before he reaches the island, so high on the Bliss he’s take a knife to his own throat if Faith asks it of him. He’ll end up one of her Angels. She’s scared enough of Joseph to still do anything he asks of her. Nylander will never make it.

Pratt won’t either.

“You need Faith,” Jacob offers, “and I’ll help you get her.”

Jacob doesn’t see a road ahead for himself. An outcome where he survives Hope County. Maybe there never was. But it doesn’t have to be the same for John, for Faith, for Joe. He can bear this burden alone.

—

Pratt doesn’t insist on going with them. Jacob is relieved.

—

Caleb doesn’t leave Staci with any particular instructions. He’s not told explicitly that it’s his responsibility to keep John safe. But this weird sort of protective feeling comes over him, not to leave John alone for too long.

Staci tries to attribute it to something, anything that makes sense. But mostly his concerns are eased just by lounging around in the same room as John. Keeping an eye on him from a distance. It’s not like they have anything to talk about.

Night falls and Jacob and Caleb don’t return. Staci tries not to worry. Caleb said this might take awhile. Jacob has a plan, but otherwise, neither of them divulged much in terms of details. Just that the plan would end up with taking Faith Seed alive. Hopefully.

Staci is dozing off on the couch when he smells John leaning over him. His eyes shoot open, meeting John’s looming face. All the Seeds have those same icy eyes. Staci has never liked blue eyes. When he was younger, he would joke about people with them. Dumb kid shit about having no souls. Immature, but kind of a small protest against the White boys who called him worse things on the playground. When you’re powerless, you hold on to what scraps of resistance that you can.

“Jesus fuck,” Staci curses, scrambling to sit up. He realizes then that John is half on top of him, trying to share the couch.

“Come to bed, Staci,” John says. He’s already bundled up in sweatpants and a too-large shirt.

Staci rubs his face, almost certain he’s still asleep, “What?”

“Just come to bed, we’ll both feel better. Don’t you miss him?”

Leaning back on the couch, Staci tries to clear his head. Yes, being around John is easier than being around Jacob. While Staci knows John was just as involved with Joseph’s machinations as Jacob was. And Staci knows that he tortured Joey. He mutilated Caleb. But all of those things happened to other people, not to Staci directly. So it’s easier to shove down.

“They’ve been gone like,” he turns his head to look at the clock on the wall, “ten hours.”

“I miss Caleb,” John says, playing with the hem of Staci’s shirt. “Don’t you miss Jacob?”

Staci laughs, covering his face with one hand. He doesn’t want to answer John’s question. So, instead, he just agrees to come to bed. Shuffling off the couch, he grabs his gun off the coffee table, following John into the bedroom.

The bed is a king, big enough that John and Staci won’t have to touch. But Staci is pretty sure he’s not getting off that easy. He pulls off his shirt, but leaves his jeans on, until John pulls another pair of sweats from the dresser drawer, tossing them in Staci’s direction. They’re a little long, but otherwise they fit okay.

The lights are out and Staci knows John isn’t asleep, just on the verge of speaking.

“Jake isn’t as terrible as he seems.”

Yes. He is. 

Staci’s not about to share with John what he’s gone through to make it to this point. It’s not John’s goddamn business. John and Caleb can do what they like. They’re their own people. They can make terrible decisions for themselves. 

—

Nylander drives them to the edge of the Henbane, before Jacob insists they ditch the truck. Each of them carried a pistol and a knife. Jacob cautioned Nylander against bringing heavier weapons with them. The Bliss will be unavoidable as they cross the river. It’s better that they give themselves a fighting chance, if Faith turns one of them against the other.

Jacob leads them through the growth lining the water, looking for a boat that they can steal. Last time he was through the Henbane, finding speed boats abandoned on the shores was relatively easy. Taking the river east is going to be the fastest way to Faith’s Bliss production compound, and their best chance at avoiding the Bliss clouds.

Once they locate a boat, Nylander sets about getting the ignition started, popping off the panel under the steering console and fiddling with the wires, since they don’t have a key. Jacob double checks the fuel tank and the hull, making sure that they’re sure to float.

With the boat started, Nylander gives up the wheel to Jacob, trusting him to steer them in the right direction. Jacob knows the way well enough. But it’s already dark, and they’ll have to avoid debris in the water.

Neither say much, trying to keep their noise level down. Pointless to shout over the sound of the engine. Nylander smells calm, though. He’s not afraid of Jacob. Or their mission.

It’s past midnight when they have to make landfall. Up ahead, Jacob can make out the lights of one of Faith’s patrol boats. If they continue on the water, they’ll be spotted for sure. They’ll have to reach the compound on foot.

Jacob is uneasy as they follow the curve of the road, keeping to the tree line to avoid being seen by passing cars. He’s nervous about the Bliss, always, how it can creep up on you when you least expect. 

Nylander doesn’t have trouble keeping up, his endurance is commendable. They manage to get within sight of Faith’s base of operations without detection, but the hardest part comes next.

“Fuck,” Jacob curses, finally able to appraise the scene in front of him. Bliss flows freely from the compound, soaking the ground and contaminating the air in a heavy cloud. 

“She’ll be inside?” Nylander asks.

Jacob explains, “maybe, maybe not. But our first priority needs to be cutting off the Bliss supply. Once she hears, she’ll come back to the compound. We can intercept her.”

“Okay,” Nylander defers to him.

“She’s skilled with using her scent in conjunction with the Bliss. Is that going to be a problem for you?” Jacob needs to figure out what they’ll be up against, including each other.

Nylander shakes his head, “I don’t think so. Uh, I’m pretty set on your brother here.”

Jacob doesn’t know how sincere he is, or how truthful he can really be. Faith is a force to be reckoned with. And while she won’t have an effect on Jacob, Nylander is still at risk. “You’re not bonded to him,” Jacob points out.

Nylander winces.

“The Bliss will be a problem for me,” Jacob admits. It’s better that Nylander knows. “But we don’t have a choice.”

“Gas masks?” Nylander asks. And it’s a reasonable enough question. Won’t work though.

Jacob explains as succinctly as possible, “The Bliss doesn’t get trapped in charcoal. The filter won’t do a damn thing.”

“Alright,” Nylander slumps, “I guess this is the part where we try not to get killed.”

“Something like that,” Jacob presses forward.

—

They wind their way through the cloud of Bliss, vapor clogging up their lungs. Jacob tries to beat back the tendrils of paranoia that try to wrap their way around his lungs, through his hair, across his skin. 

Next to him, Nylander breathes heavily, the sticky-sweetness of his scent mixing in with the Bliss. How is he not an omega? Jacob can’t figure it out. He’s built like an alpha, that much is certain. And he got John pregnant. But his scent has always been so fucking strange.

Pressing on, they take the stairs up to the second floor, and another sealed door. Jacob is able to use his passcode in the lock to open it. Now there will be no mistaking who brought the Deputy through.

“Fuck,” Nylander shuts his eyes tightly, then blinks rapidly after they’re open again. Trying to fight against the hallucinations, no doubt. Jacob is struggling with the same. The whole building can’t possibly be awash in Bliss. They just have to press on.

Jacob steps through the doorway and finds himself falling, falling. He tries to turn his body so that he’ll land properly, minimizing the chances of breaking any bones. When he hits the floor, it’s softer than he expects, giving with his weight.

Rolling onto his back, he sees a starry sky above his head. He breathes deeply, trying to replace the Bliss in his lungs with clean fresh air. When he opens his eyes again, clouds have filled his vision, Faith’s face looming overhead.

“Brother, you’ve finally come!” she chirps, her smile thin and watery.

Joseph keeps her high, so she’ll forget the name she had before. So she’ll mistake his investment in her for kindness. So that she’ll obey. She’s really a charming girl. Doesn’t deserve what happened to her. But it’s too late now.

“Faith?”

“I’ve always wanted you to see for yourself,” her voice is teasing, “how much I really contribute to the family.” She spreads her arms wide, smoke clinging to her arms, wrapping around her wrists.

She’s dressed in white, like a virgin. Pink clinging to her cheeks and petals in her hair.

“Faith, we have to…” he knows that she doesn’t hold the same affection for John that he does. She and John have been rivals from the start. “It’s all falling apart…”

“Is it?” She presses her index finger to her lips, then fades away.

In her place kneels Miller. How does Faith know? Jacob can barely remember his face himself. He’s tried to blot it out. First with drinking, then with devotion to a God he isn’t sure is real. Only the barest hints remain. The angle of his jaw, the warm brown of his eyes, the way his hair curled. Not someone Jacob ever took notice of before. Not until the pharms wore off. Not until Jacob had to choose the manner of his death.

He screams for Faith to come back. He’d rather her Cheshire grin than be faced with Miller looking down on him, lips parted, trying to joke about being an omega in distress. How distressed he was as Jacob held him down, slit his throat. The terror in his scent, sour and wet, expiring as Miller died, the blood over Jacob’s scarred arms. How his body came apart in pieces. The meat like ash on Jacob’s tongue.

Staci Pratt sits next to him, dressed in Faith’s clothes, white lace clinging to his arms, in contrast with the copper of his skin. Faith is a ghost. Pratt is alive. And beautiful. And doesn’t look like Miller. Except where he does. 

Pratt takes Jacob’s knife, slitting both his wrists. He holds up his hands, letting the blood run down and soak his sleeves. “Drink,” he coaxes, “you want to consume me, don’t you? You want me, inside of you. Or is my blood not enough? You’ve had it already? Not too sweet?” He picks up the knife again, this time slicing down his arm, wordless, until a flap of flesh wrapped in lace falls into his lap. “Eat then, Jake, eat.”

And now it’s John.

Each and every one of his failures on display.

John’s belly swollen with Nylander’s child, the seams on his dress ready to burst. He offers up his flesh in his hands. Nails neatly trimmed, eyes searching for approval. Blood seeps down his arms until the dress is fully red. None of the purity retained. 

“It’s okay, Jake,” John soothes, “I forgive you.”

“Jacob?” Nylander shakes him out of the deepest part of his haze. The world around him is still unsteady, foggy, indistinct. But Jacob thinks he has a better handle on reality now. When he looks at his hands, they’re clean. “Okay, you had me worried there. But uh, I think I found the tanks.”

Nylander leaves Jacob propped up against the wall as he inspects the console. “I think if I overload the pressure, it’ll emergency vent or...something. I’m not sure.”

“Is Faith here?” Jacob asks, trying to find his footing.

“I don’t think so. I didn’t see her. You sort of...passed out in the Bliss fog. I dragged you out here. It’s thinner.”

“You didn’t go under?” Jacob asks, stumbling over to the console to see what Nylander is looking at.

Nylander shakes his head, “no, I’ve been exposed a lot at this point. Have a pretty good tolerance I guess. I’m feeling kind of loopy, but other than that, I’m with you.”

Sighing, Jacob tucks his head between his hands and breathes. He’s still shaking all over, the Bliss against his nerves even though the hallucination has ebbed. Knows it could come back at any point. This is why he fucking hates it. The meds at the VA were better. But Joe said...Joe said…

Jacob stands next to Nylander at the console, a mess of dials and switches and gauges. None of it make a lick of sense to him. He’s a soldier, not a fucking scientist. The factory floor has eight of these large, copper tanks, each with piping leading up to the ceiling. Jacob doesn’t even know which stage of processing this room is for. But he’s fairly certain if they fuck with it enough, it will impair Faith’s Bliss production.

Finding a fire hatchet, Jacob raises the axe high above his head with both hands, coming down hard enough on the console to break glass gauges he never even touched directly. Next to him, Nylander laughs as Jacob swings again, trying to bust through the delicate knobs and electronics. Again and again, chopping that shit to pieces. Until Jacob’s teeth fucking hurt.

“As good an idea as any!” Nylander shouts, bouncing off towards one of the tanks. The next time Jacob looks over at him, the console wrecked beyond repair, Nylander has a breeze block in his hands smashing the concrete against the controls on each individual tank. One of the tanks has already busted open, vapor streaming out the sides.

“We should get out,” Jacob huffs, trying to catch his breath. This room is starting to fill with Bliss now too. “She’ll be coming.”

Nylander nods, tossing the breeze block against the wall with ease, “Lead the way,” he chirps, shoving his hands into his pockets.

They’re heading back towards the exit when they’re swarmed by Chosen. Jacob hears them long before he sees them emerge from the cloud of Bliss. A mix of Angels and those who are only high for the moment. No doubt acting on direct orders of their Herald.

Behind him, Nylander curses, sprinting forward with his knife drawn. In such close quarters, and without visibility, their pistols will be of little use. Jacob grabs the knife from his belt just as one of the Chosen tackles him to the ground.

He has to assume that in their haze, they don’t recognize who he is. Or if they do, they think it’s a side effect of the Bliss, confusing what they’re seeing with the dream. Jacob stabs the one on top of him between the ribs, a slick, squelching noise as he twists and pulls the knife back out. The Chosen calls him, “Deputy,” not knowing any better.

Nylander goes near silent, but the Angels are anything but, wailing as they approach. Jacob keeps his feet this time as one lunges through the vapor, her milky eyes staring blankly ahead as she tries to throw her body weight against him. 

She’s large, and if she weren’t so clumsy, she might be able to knock the wind out of Jacob, but as she stumbles, Jacob gets in behind her and slits her neck, blood running over the hand he’s used to hold her in place.

“Deputy!” Jacob calls, trying to locate him in the swirling fog. The Bliss from the tanks is mixing with the finished product choking the halls, cutting out their visibility. Jacob isn’t going to be able to hold out long. And if the hallucinations take him this time, he’ll be easy prey for the Angels’ feasting.

Nylander shouts, “Busy!” But that at least confirms that he’s alive. 

Jacob runs down the hallway towards the voice, grabbing a Chosen on fast approach around the waist and shoving them hard enough into the wall that their head and neck snap with the force of impact.

The Bliss parts enough that he can make out Nylander, wrestling on the floor with an Angel. Jacob darts around to the Angel’s back, stabbing through the back of his neck and breaking the vertebrae and spinal cord. Twitching still, the Angel lands heavy on Nylander’s chest.

“We have to get out of here,” Jacob barks. They can’t fight Faith here.

Nylander scrambles to his feet and towards the bunker door, Jacob keeping speed. 

Jacob’s code still works to open the door back up and the rush of night air hits them hard, clears their lungs. But there’s no time to stop. Nylander races towards the nearest truck, popping out the panel that will let him hotwire the engine.

Checking the truck bed, Jacob grabs the assault rifle he finds in back. He’s still worried about the Bliss stealing his sanity, but he has to balance that concern with the very tangible Chosen certain to still be in pursuit.

Nylander gets the truck going as Jacob jumps into the passenger seat. Peeling away, Nylander hits the gas and screams through the open gate. 

They need to set an ambush for Faith. Strictly speaking, with her compound in disarray and Bliss production compromised, they might be able to make it to Joe, even without properly handling Faith. He’s not sure.

Nylander takes the next turn sharply, asking Jacob where they should go? What should they do? That’s when Nylander’s handheld on his belt lights up with an incoming call.

“Yeah?” he switches on without paying much attention.

“Jacob.”

Joe.

Jacob stays fucking quiet. Next to him, Nylander goes pale.

“I’m not angry, Jacob. Have you found our brother? Is he safe?” Joe sounds sincere, concerned for John’s well being. “I know he must be. Thank you Jacob, for finding Herald John. I was so worried….”

Nylander just keeps on driving, his eyes on the road. Neither he nor Jacob know where they are going.

“God has his reasons. Though I’m just a vessel, a tool for Him to use. I may not understand what you have done, Jacob. But I trust in Him. In you.”

There’s a long silence, though the channel stays open. The sounds of the open road louder than their breathing.

“Remember what He has entrusted to you, to our family. I know you will not stray from the Path. I miss you. I look forward to you coming _home_.”

Joe turns his radio off.

Nylander finally speaks, “Where do we wait for Faith?”

Jacob shakes his head, “She’ll come to us, now that Joe knows. We should go back to the others.”

“Won’t that lead her to John?” Nylander’s concern is well founded.

“Yes, but Joe might know where he is already. At the house, we can at least fortify our position….she’ll bring an army. We should call in those you trust to help.”

“Okay,” Nylander takes the next turn which will put them back into the Valley, “Okay, alright.”


	14. Chapter 14

Caleb returns by morning, his face bruised, flushed cheeks clawed at, torn, clothing soaked in stiffening blood. He stinks of Bliss. John throws himself at Caleb as soon as he steps through the door, wrapping his arms around Caleb’s shoulders and holding tightly onto him. Unconcerned about the human remains stuck to his shirt.

Jacob follows Caleb inside, looking equally strung out and battered. There are dark bruises on his face, blood on his arms and neck. His lip is cut and swollen.

Staci doesn’t even mean to stand up, dropping the magazine that was in his lap onto the floor, the pages rustle. He takes a step towards Jacob, the pull of their bond difficult to repress entirely. Staci has to swallow down the impulse to _comfort_. Jacob is distressed, exhausted, and Staci knows he could make a difference.

It would help Caleb’s plans, if he did.

Jacob flinches as Staci steps into his personal space, but doesn’t protest as he reaches up to touch Jacob’s face, just where his beard ends and his cheek is bruised. 

“You’re alright though?” Staci asks, trying to exude calm and care. 

Jacob wraps his hand around Staci’s pulling it gently away from his face. “You’re a terrible liar.” He rubs his fingers over Staci’s knuckles, unwilling to let go so soon. 

Staci frowns, “You still like it. Like me touching you. Being close.”

Caleb and John have already disappeared from the living room, leaving Jacob and Staci alone at the threshold. Staci can faintly hear the water running in the master bath.

“I want you to like it, too, Peaches,” Jacob says.

Anger flares in Staci again, knowing this can ever only be a farce. 

“There’s the Pratt I know,” Jacob smiles thinly, keeping his teeth covered. 

Jacob steps aside, heading towards the second bathroom. Staci stays rooted in place, fists clenched, soaking in the scent of Jacob’s lingering fear.

—

Caleb’s friends start arriving at the farmhouse, usually in packs of two or three. The mood is terse, restrained. They all know why they’re here. Many might think this is a last stand, even though they still have Joseph left to face after they’ve dealt with Faith.

Space is at a premium, with only two bedrooms, and Caleb is mostly trying to keep everyone away from the Seed brothers, locked inside the child’s bedroom and out of sight. It’s not a secret that they’re here. Joey, Grace, and Pastor Jeffries have known about Jacob’s capture since they stashed him at Fall’s End. Everyone else figures it out pretty quickly. And literally everyone already knows about Caleb and John. They’re not exactly subtle.

“I told that boy,” Adelaide Drubman sighs, “that John had eyes for him since the beginning. Could tell, from their conversations. Just, couldn’t‘ve predicted this though. A baby…”

She’s taking to the room, rather than Staci specifically, so he just keeps his mouth shut. He tries very hard not to touch the bandana tied around his neck. After going through every dresser drawer in the house, he still couldn’t find anything with a collar high enough to hide the bite.

Joey and Caleb disappeared awhile ago, heading out to the barn. Grace hangs out by the door of the second bedroom, presumably keeping everyone else who might want to kill the Seeds out. That might include restraining herself, but she’s the one Caleb trusts to keep everyone else in line.

Staci doesn’t bother excusing himself, just getting off the couch and heading for the door. Jess moves in to take his seat, and Staci is still marveled by how quietly she moves.

The night is cold and Staci didn’t bother with his coat, heading directly to the barn. He can hear Joey and Caleb arguing. He doesn’t even have to guess what that’s about.

“He’s a manipulative monster, Caleb, he’s using you. And his brother is strong enough to clean up the rest of us.”

Staci inserts himself into the conversation, slipping in and pawing at Caleb’s hand for a cigarette. He doesn’t smoke often, just socially. But this is as good an excuse as any. 

“I can’t, Joey, you know I can’t.”

“I can,” she hisses, “gladly. I can take care of it when Faith attacks. Be gone by the time the rest of you are done. I’ll disappear. That’s what you’re worried about, right? That if I kill him for you, you’ll think about killing me?”

Caleb sighs, “You gonna tell Grace about this?”

“Caleb, I’m not bothered. She won’t be either. Not everyone is involved in some sort of melodramatic love affair.”

Staci winces, still unable to get a word in edgewise. 

“There isn’t a future there for you, Caleb. Everyone knows it. You cannot be with John Seed. There is no happily ever after.”

“Joey,” Staci says. He doesn’t want to tell her how she should feel. He’s been avoiding just that since Fall’s End. But Caleb’s plan is the best one they have. And John and Jacob will face justice, if they can make this work. “You’re right. But Joseph Seed is expecting his brothers dead. Defying his expectations is the best move for us, right now.”

Joey sneers, gesturing with a cigarette still clutched between her fingers. Her nails are bitten down, cuticles raw and torn. “I can’t believe you’re agreeing to this. That bastard Jacob tortured you. Kept you caged up like a fucking dog, Staci.” 

He hasn’t told her everything, but she has bits and pieces of what happened, from Staci and from Caleb.

“Agreeing to Caleb’s plan isn’t absolving the Seeds,” Staci swallows, trying not to cry or panic, he came out here with the intention of keeping a level head. Of helping Caleb bring Joey around, rather than just making things worse. “He _ruined me_ Joey. I’m so fucking...I don’t even know if I hate him. That’s...fuck.”

Her eyes soften in the shadows, “Staci, you’re not ruined.”

She doesn’t know about the bite. Staci suspects that she knows that Jacob fucked him, but not the details beyond that. It’s not exactly an easy topic to broach. None of them knew how each other really smelled before the helicopter crash. And Joey is a beta anyway. No one other than Caleb can tell the difference. 

“Joey...just…we can do this. And afterwards, the Seeds will get what they deserve,” Staci asks of her.

She’s not satisfied, even if she kills John with her bare hands, she won’t be. But she’ll go along with Caleb’s plan. And that’s really all they need.

—

In the early morning, Jess radios the house, letting the others know that Faith’s convoy is on the way. At least six vans worth of peggies. Possibly more heading up the highway. She’ll keep them updated.

Jess is positioned on a ridge about fifteen minutes away from the house, giving everyone enough time to get into position. 

Caleb and Jacob both proved unsuccessful in talking John into staying inside the farmhouse. John openly challenged his brother, sneering that Jacob should know that John is capable of fighting.

Staci doesn’t expect either of them to open fire on their “sister,” but the goal here is to capture anyway, not kill.

Jess radios again to warn them that on the tail of the main convoy are two Bliss tankers. Enough that Faith can fog the whole house and then some. Caleb tells her he’s got it, they'd expected as much, but it’s good to have confirmed eyes on the shipment.

The explosive traps they set the night before should be enough to take out the lead and second trucks. That will leave four more. Faith is probably smart enough to hide herself in one of the middle vehicles, rather than take the lead.

Adelaide waits until the last possible moment to get into her chopper. The noise will alert the convoy that they’re heading into an ambush. And Adelaide doesn’t want to be in a vulnerable position for too long.

Staci’s not skilled enough with a sniper rifle, but he’s still not part of the front line, hanging back to keep space between himself and the peggies, he gets into cover behind the woodpile. 

Faith is only minutes away when Staci feels Jacob drop in at his side. He’s supposed to be up in the barn rafters with Grace.

“Pratt,” Jacob breathes, his scent strong and too familiar. “I’m sorry.” Neither of them turn to look at each other, they just stare straight ahead at the driveway.

Staci closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, Jacob’s gone.

—

The raid is chaos, too many bodies in too small a space. The peggies Molotov the house upon arrival, using slings to whip the flaming bottles over everyone’s heads. Staci has to change positions, the woodpile too close to the house to be safe. He darts into the woods, keeping his eyes on Caleb, who moves the front line forward across the barricades they erected last night.

Hurk and Sharky are right behind him, trying to keep a solid barrier between the peggies and everyone in the second and third lines. Staci quickly loses sight of John, who was meant to be on the other side of the farmhouse, closer to the barn. He can only hope John has enough sense not to get too close to the fire.

Concealed in the brush, Staci tries not to draw too much attention to himself. Picking off Peggies who blindly rush towards Caleb, not expecting shots coming from the flank. His marksmanship is nothing to write home about, but even if the bullet only grazes them, typically any hit is distracting enough for Caleb, Hurk, or Sharky to finish the wounded Peggie off.

Further down the drive, closer to the main road, Staci catches the brush moving out of the corner of his eye. There’s too much shouting to hear anything, and too many smells to try and pick out who it might be. Jess, maybe, come up from the roadside to help in flanking the cultists.

Staci keeps moving, not settling in one position for too long, getting closer to the tree line then backing off again, trying to keep the peggies guessing as to exactly where he is. The only thing he ever hears over the screams are the sniper rifles’ booms. They didn’t have suppressors. He hears two shots close enough together that he knows Jacob hasn’t betrayed them.

An indistinct scream breaks through the ambient noise, and Staci doesn’t realize what’s going on until it’s too late. One of the peggies arrives with the Bliss truck, intent on bursting through the barriers.

Caleb and the others scramble away as the truck smashes head-first into the wood and concrete blockade. The driver loses control of the truck, swerving sharply so that the wheels turn towards the woods. Staci runs to avoid the collision, but before the truck gets too close, it slams hard into a tree. The canisters in the back of the truck burst on impact, soaking the area in Bliss.

Staci wheezes, heading deeper into the forest to get away from the cloud. He tries to cough it out, to cover his nose and mouth. He hasn’t been exposed like this before; he doesn’t know how his body will respond. Stumbling through the brush, he tries to hold onto something, anything, as his mind goes loose. Like he’s wet all over. Staci falls to his knees, covering his face and trying to focus on anything that will stay fucking still. 

When he opens his eyes again, a figure stands before him, dressed in white, matchstick legs and arms, a head too big for her body, covered in blonde waves.

Faith crouches down in front of him, until they’re eye to eye. Staci wonders, stupidly, if this girl was chosen for the color of her eyes. 

She takes his chin between her thumb and index finger, forcing him to look her in the eye. Still on the fringes of the Bliss cloud, she uses her scent to put Staci in his place. She doesn’t smell anything like the other Seeds, too powdery and floral.

“Oh, Staci Pratt,” she thumbs his cheek. “Jacob should have just admitted how pretty you are from the start.” She sits down in the dirt next to him, wrapping her thin arms around his neck and pulling him close. He wants to fight her, but his nerves are too fucked up to listen to him. “It was hard to tell, under the blood and dirt.” 

Staci feels himself stretching, hurting, but without pain, tumbling over into a field of flowers, Faith laying next to him. She fiddles with the bandana around his neck.

“Brother Jacob is like any other alpha, don’t you think? They’re so dumb,” she clicks her tongue and laughs. “That Marshal,” she reaches up to play with Staci’s hair, “said he’d do _anything_ for me. Wanted to give me his knot so bad.”

Staci feels as if he’s being wrapped in vines, anchored to the ground, unable to move his limbs or tongue.

“Now, Brother John, he has the right idea. Bet Caleb Nylander would die for him. Kill for him. They all think they’re so smart,” she laughs, “but we hold all the power in this world.” 

He feels like he can almost form a sentence, his tongue and teeth finally coming loose. “Faith…”

“Mmmm, what is it that you made Jacob do? Come to my property, Father’s property, and make a mess? What did you promise him, Staci Pratt? I have to know,” she runs her hand down the front of Staci’s chest. There’s dirt under her nails. “What you’ve accomplished is so impressive, really. You should be celebrated.” Her hand moves to his neck, slipping under the scarf to brush against Jacob’s mark.

Gunshot cuts through Faith’s melodic voice. She starts suddenly, pushing herself up off the ground. As she moves, the fog of the Bliss dream breaks for Staci, who finds himself soaked in sweat.

“Staci! Oh god, Staci!” Caleb calls, running towards him. A second set of boots starts running past, in pursuit of Faith. It’s Jacob, Jacob chases Faith.

Caleb wraps his arms around Staci’s back and under his knees to lift him up bridal-style. Staci still doesn’t have enough control to lift his head, to tell Caleb to put him down. But if Caleb is here, that must mean that they were able to deal with the other peggies, while Faith was fixated on him.

Staci can at least be content that he served his purpose.

—

Faith runs in bare feet, numb to the pain of branches and rocks and trash under her each step. She’s tiny enough to flit through the trees, dashing back down towards the road. Her white dress gives her away, stained with brown around the hem. Jacob doesn’t lose sight of her, gaining quickly.

She tries to pin him down with her scent. But it doesn’t work the same way now. Not with Jacob bonded to another omega. He catches her within sight of the road, grabbing her around the waist and hoisting her easily up off the ground.

Faith screams and screams until she’s crying, sobbing, shaking in Jacob’s arms. Her scent going from dominant omega to terrified prey in a single breath. She calls out, “Father, Father, help me!” Until she switches to “No, no, he’ll be angry.”

Jacob puts her back down on her feet, turning her around before she can bolt again and holds her to his chest like he would John. She’s much shorter, smaller than Pratt too. But Jacob wraps his arms around her and holds her close, trying to radiate calm the best he can. He’s not good at this. But he can try.

She’s shaking like a leaf, sobbing into his shirt. And he’s well aware this might all be a lie. Faith lies so well she’s begun to believe herself.

“He’ll be so angry,” she sobs, “he’ll be all alone.”

Jacob has no fucking idea what to say to her. Taking the radio from his belt, he signals Jess Black, asking if someone can come around with a car.


	15. Chapter 15

Caleb thinks it should just be the four of them; Staci, Joey, Sheriff Whitehorse, and himself. No one else has to get dragged into this. Showing up with an army will only result in more dead. And Caleb has put everything he has into trying to curb the human cost.

“Thought you wanted me there?” Jacob asks, sharpening his knife at the dinner table. Flecks of metal shavings collect darkly against the white paper towel he uses to catch them.

Most of the others have already left, Caleb having told them he’ll call when he needs them. They might as well enjoy their own beds, rather than stay another night in the cramped farmhouse, practically on top of each other. Grace stayed behind. For Joey, almost certainly. She showers while Caleb, Jacob, Joey, and Staci talk around the table.

“I do,” Caleb admits, pulling at his hair, “but I don’t want John there. And Faith is in no condition.” She’s been locked into the master bedroom for the time being. John is watching her now. When Staci last saw her, she was near catatonic. She needs a doctor, a real one. Not a veterinarian. She’ll start going into real withdrawal before too long. 

“Armstrong can keep and eye on the two of them, easy,” Jacob offers.

Much like Staci’s relative ease with John, Joey has less boiling animosity directed at Jacob. Staci doesn’t fault her. He understands. “Like hell she’s babysitting the two of them alone.”

Ignoring Joey’s outburst, Jacob keeps his eyes locked with Caleb’s, “you know you need me. I’ve been part of your plan all along.”

Caleb shrugs, “Not really, you might still fuck us over but, if that’s the case, I guess all my good intentions will just become my worst regrets.”

It’s decided then.

—

Caleb says Staci can sleep in the master bedroom with him, John, and Faith. They can’t leave Faith alone through the night anyway. The bed will be kind of tight with four, but they can make it work. He’s even careful to let Staci know he can have one of the sides, closest to the door, and he’ll sleep between Staci and both of the Seeds.

“No, it’s fine, I’m okay,” Staci lets him know. 

Joey and Grace have crammed into the second bedroom, Sheriff Whitehorse hasn’t arrived yet from the County Jail, having to make final preparations for the assault on Jacob’s stronghold and thus excluded from today’s earlier activities.

“Okay,” Caleb pats his shoulder, “you can come in if you need to.”

Jacob is in the shower now, having opted to take the final turn. There’s probably no hot water left, the drain clogged with blood.

There’s still something Staci has to do.

—

Jacob comes out of the bathroom, his bright hair still damp with cold water. He’s pulled on sweatpants, but even in November it gets too hot at night to bother with a shirt. He expects to find the living room empty, having heard vague conversation between Pratt and Nylander before turning on the water.

The lights are off, but he can see the back of Pratt’s head over the backrest of the couch, sitting straight up and quiet. Waiting. For him. His scent is nervous, excitable, but not scared, almost reaching out to brush against Jacob’s senses, inviting him in.

“Pratt?” he says, not knowing why he’s here. He expected Pratt to sleep in the master bedroom with the others. Anywhere but here.

“Sit down, Jacob,” he says, not turning his head.

Jacob isn’t sure where he’s supposed to sit, the sofa or the armchair across from Pratt. He ends up next to Pratt on the sofa, keeping enough distance between them that they don’t touch.

“Come here,” Pratt says, his hands palms-down on the tops of his thighs. “Come here,” he repeats, reaching over to paw at Jacob’s shoulders. 

Jacob doesn’t question. It feels so fucking _good_ to have his mate’s hands on him again. Skimming over scars and sins, Pratt rolls his hands down Jacob’s chest, letting Jacob settle his hips between Pratt’s spread thighs, one leg falling off the side. Any questions Jacob might have had die at the back of his throat as Pratt presses his tongue past his lips.

They’re both freshly showered, smelling of nothing but generic soap and each other, the mix of their unwanted union. But God, Jacob could get drunk on it. He leans Pratt back against the couch and kisses him, open-mouthed and terribly needy. Groaning as Pratt kisses back with equal strength, scraping his teeth over Jacob’s tender lips.

Pratt wraps his arms around Jacob’s shoulders holding them chest to chest. Jacob paws as Pratt’s shirt, urging him to take it off already. Nodding, Pratt lifts his shoulders just enough to grab the back of his T-shirt and pull it off over his head, static sticking his hair to the fabric. Jacob smooths it back down for him. He wants to touch Pratt everywhere.

“God,” Pratt tightens his thighs around Jacob’s hips, rocking up and into him. “Why does this have to be so hard?” Digging his nails into Jacob’s back, he scratches hard, pulling up skin and making Jacob hiss.

Jacob palms Pratt’s cock through the fabric of his sweatpants, he’s hard and heavy, ready to be touched. He has to fold up his legs to fit, but Jacob backs up enough that he can pull Pratt’s pants down and free his cock. Dipping his head down, he takes Pratt in his mouth sucking softly, letting saliva collect in his mouth. 

Pratt whines, high and reedy, grabbing onto Jacob’s hair and pulling. Whines again when Jacob slots his hand underneath his hips to press his fingers into Staci’s hole.

“Fuck, fuck,” Pratt throws his head back against the armrest, hands clawing in Jacob’s hair.

When Jacob looks up, he can just make out the darkened color of the bite, beautiful against Pratt’s copper skin. He looks away, focusing on throating Pratt down, pushing until the head of Pratt’s cock touches the back of his throat, nose buried in dark hair.

Jacob’s fingers are sopping wet already. Pratt is more than ready to take his cock. But Jacob doesn’t relent, bobbing his head as much as Pratt will let him with fingers tangled in his hair.

Jacob feels it as Pratt’s body tenses, toes curling in his socks still propped up on the couch. He holds Pratt’s hips down, pinning him in place as he swallows, his sterile cum thin and slightly sweet.

Once Pratt is spent, Jacob slides back up his body, placing his lips against Pratt’s neck, then his mouth. Pratt tastes himself in Jacob’s kisses, sweat sticking to their skin, growing clammy in the chilled air in the room.

“Fuck me,” Pratt offers, keeping his knees apart. 

Jacob kisses against his bite again, taking the waistband of Pratt’s sweats and starting to push them further down. In the end, they have to rearrange to get their pants all the way off, tossing them into a heap on the floor.

They both try and stay quiet, the house is full, after all. But there won’t be any doubts as to what happened. They’ve already crossed that threshold.

Jacob pushes into Pratt, slowly, achingly, until he bottoms out. Pratt’s legs wrapped tightly around his hips, locking them together. He kisses Pratt’s neck, licking at his pulse, snapping his hips back and forwards again, relishing in the heat of Pratt’s body. How it feels like Pratt were made for him. Like they should have met in a different life. Or this same one, with different choices, scattered and indistinct. Now forever out of their line of sight.

They rock together on the sofa, Jacob trying to draw it out until Pratt is hard again. Even mostly soft, Pratt leaks for him, fluid dribbling from the head of his cock into the hairs across his abdomen.

“Beautiful,” Jacob can’t help but praise, “so beautiful.”

“Fuck you,” Pratt’s eyes are wet. They always are. Jacob kisses his cheek where his tears streak down, curling back towards his neck.

His orgasm hits him slowly, knot expanding until he can’t pull out, only push deeper inside, press himself closer to Pratt until he feels like it’s Pratt who’s inside him.

Carefully, he rolls them over so that Pratt is sprawled out on top of him. Knotting face-to-face is never the best idea, but Jacob takes the opportunity to kiss Pratt’s swollen lips again.

Once he can slip out, he asks Pratt if he needs anything, still playing with Pratt’s hair. Pratt sighs deeply, digging the tip of his nose against Jacob’s chest.

“Hold on,” Pratt climbs off of him, crossing the room naked to where he’s left his pack. Jacob stares at his ass as he bends over, catching the barest glimpse of his work where Pratt is wet and open. “Sit up.”

Jacob obeys, sitting up straight with his back against the couch. Pratt sits next to him, opening his fist and showing Jacob two syringes sitting in his palm. 

“Chemical divorce,” Pratt explains. “It will break the bond.”

Swallowing, Jacob asks, “how long have you had this?”

“The morning you were tied up in the attic. That’s where Caleb was. He was out finding this for me.”

“You’ve been using the bond to control me.”

Pratt snickers, “Yeah, and?”

“So why break it now, before we’re finished with Joe?” It only makes sense that Pratt would exert his control as long as possible. Breaking the bond now will make Jacob less receptive to what Pratt, and thus Nylander, wants from him tomorrow.

“Heard it hurts real bad, if your mate dies violently...either one of us….will be distracted. If something happens. Better to do it now.” Pratt passes him one of the syringes, labeled “A.”

“The instructions say thirty-six to forty-eight hours for complete effectiveness. So, it might still hurt. But it won’t be nearly as bad.”

Jacob rolls the syringe between his fingers, “You know, I could still betray you.”

“Yeah, you always could,” Pratt uncaps the syringe, letting the plastic guard fall onto the floor and roll under the couch. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Pratt stabs the needle firmly into the meat of his thigh.

Jacob only waits a moment before doing the same.

—

Staci checks his neck in the bathroom mirror. The mark is still visible, but has definitely faded. He decides not to wear his bandana. This part of his nightmare is nearly over.

Sheriff Whitehorse arrives in the early hours, just after dawn. The four of them from the farmhouse, Staci, Caleb, Joey, and Jacob, pile into the van together. Whitehorse gives Jacob a suspicious look up and down, but doesn’t say anything about his presence. He and Caleb have been in radio contact all this time, so it’s not as if Jacob should come as a surprise.

John and Grace see them off. Faith isn’t coherent, in the throws of withdrawal. Staci doesn’t say anything about the bruise on John’s neck, fresh and stark. Neither does Jacob.

Caleb sits up front, playing with the radio as Whitehorse drives. Staci sits in back between Joey and Jacob. Makes sense, since he’s got the shortest legs.

They’re still an hour away from the island when Caleb’s radio lights up. No one is surprised when it’s Joseph on the other side.

“A second attempt at your arrival...I’ll welcome you with open arms. And Brother, It is time for you to choose.”

“I’ve made my choice,” Caleb smiles, manic and cocksure, “I’m Wrath personified, remember?”

“You’ve taken my family from me, you will not walk away unscathed. Judgement will come for you.”

“You know, a stupid man, and I mean stupid because it was you, once said that John could charm the nuclear codes out of the President, right?” Caleb pauses, only continuing when Joseph doesn’t speak up, “For an idiot, that was a pretty smart observation. So here’s a million dollar question. Who the fuck charmed John? And fucked up your prophecy in process?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, shutting the radio off.

“You sure it’s smart to taunt him?” Joey asks.

Caleb shrugs, “nope, not at all. But too late now?”

—

Peggies line their approach to Joseph church, staring at the group of them with white garments and empty eyes, marching towards destiny. Joseph must have given them strict instructions not to strike, instead waiting for his command.

Caleb leads them forward, Jacob keeping pace at his side. The rest of them trail behind, sticking close together in formation.

Joseph smiles at them, terse and with his eyes narrowed under yellow lenses. “I’ve been waiting for this moment, child. And I will repeat what I have told you before. Leave this place to God. Do not return. And no harm will come to you. We wish only to continue on, in peace. But if you interfere, the will of God the Creator will not be—“

“I’m so fucking bored already,” Caleb snaps, pulling the syringe from his shirt sleeve and stabbing it into Joseph’s neck.

“Fuck,” Jacob curses, reaching for his gun.

At that point, hell breaks loose among the peggies, who are too fucking shocked to react with anything close to rationality. Joseph’s body crumples limply to the floor.

—

Staci ends up with a bullet grazing his arm. Hurts like a goddamn bitch, but could have been worse. Between him and Joey, they get the bleeding to stop until they can get him to a hospital. Caleb and Jacob are trying to patch up Whitehorse when Caleb’s radio lights up.

“Yeah?”

Jess’ voice rings through the mostly-quiet compound, “About three hours out now. Got the Guard. We’re coming in with choppers. Vans about an hour behind that.”

Caleb visibly relaxes, “We’re done here. Taken Joseph Seed alive. We’re going to transfer him to the farmhouse. Take it you can lead the Guard there?”

“Yes,” Jess confirms.

The compound is littered with corpses. Not all the Peggies are dead, some have boarded themselves inside their homes. The National Guard can sort out who is only injured, find who threw themselves into the river in an attempt to escape. None of them have the stamina to chase.

They have to shove Joseph’s limp body into the back of the van. Whitehorse can’t drive with his leg in the makeshift splint. Staci offers to drive in his place. Joey ends up on sedative duty, armed with four suspicious syringes provided by Caleb. She’s just supposed to pick one and “stabby stabby” if he looks like he’s waking up. Suddenly, it’s really clear why Caleb didn’t volunteer to drive.

Caleb gets into the back seat with Whitehorse, leaving the passenger side for Jacob as they drive back to the farmhouse. 

Only once along the drive does Joey yell, “holy shit!” Followed by a mumbled, “never mind, we’re good.”

—

The National Guard arrives a little later than Jess’ estimate, the forward chopper landing out in the field adjacent to the barn after the sun has gone down. Jess leads the commanding officer to the farmhouse where Caleb greets her, shaking her hand firmly and trying to fill her in on the situation.

Staci and Joey stand on either side of Caleb. Not adding anything, but present in case Caleb or the officer needs them for anything. If nothing else, it looks better to put up a united front. Whitehorse is in no condition to stand, and Caleb tells her as much. Staci’s arm hurts like a bitch, maybe worse now that the adrenaline has worn off.

“I hope you understand, Deputy Nylander,” the Lieutenant Colonel explains, “that given the unusual circumstances, we’re under orders to bring you all in, transfer you over to the Marshal’s office, and let them handle charges from there.”

Staci freezes, realizing what that means. Some undetermined amount of time in federal prison while the Marshals “handle charges.” The idea of being locked up again, no matter what the circumstances, makes his blood run cold. He can hear Joey tense too.

“Okay yeah,” Caleb nods, “I guess we really don’t have a choice, huh?”

“Not particularly?” she says. Honestly, it’s a miracle she can wrap her head around what’s happened to Hope County at all.

Caleb invites her in, asks if she wants dinner while they wait for the vans? She declines, going stiff. Yeah, this all must seem really fucking weird to someone who didn’t live through it. The idea they’re about to sit down to a meal with John and Jacob Seed, while Joseph is too drugged up to know his own name, much less the atrocities he’s committed.

The vans arrive after they’re finished eating, and everyone inside the house is told to line up, single file. Caleb flags the officer’s attention, asking if the can talk for a second.

Staci expects Jacob to fight against the Guard. More than willing to die here, rather than be carted away in zip ties. But he stands at attention to Staci’s side, waiting for the guardsman to get to him and bind his hands behind his back.

Joey doesn’t look thrilled about the situation. But she complies. Another guardsman heads inside the house when Joey tells him that Whitehorse, Joseph and Faith Seed are still inside. They should bring the van closer to the house. Whitehorse’s leg isn’t in the best shape, Joseph doesn’t know where he is. And they may want to take Faith out in the chopper. Grace confirms that Faith’s been shivering and sweating since this morning. Nothing she could do for her but apply cold water and hold her hand.

After talking with Caleb, the Lieutenant Colonel tells her men to make sure the Marshal’s office knows John Seed is pregnant. In turn, they relay the information to her about Whitehorse, Faith and Joseph Seed’s conditions. She agrees to taking Faith out in the chopper and heading straight to the hospital. They have to put out fires as they spark. 

It takes entirely too long to load them up into the vans and start out on the road.

Six hours, at least, until their destination.

Staci rests his head against Jacob’s shoulder as the rhythm of the drive rocks him towards a boneless drowsiness, even with his hands bound tightly behind his back, making it difficult to lean back.

Jacob whispers into his hair, “you still smell like mine.” And Staci can feel his nose pressed into his scalp.

He should point out it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet. The bond isn’t fully broken.

Instead, he tilts his head enough to press his lips to Jacob’s shoulder, mouthing, “Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> I still have one more chapter of the John/Caleb story to post. Then I'm out. Thanks guys!


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